


Tormund's Wedding

by elenatria



Series: Briemund [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), game of thrones
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Masturbation, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Sparring, Suspense, Tarthbane, Torienne, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, briemund, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: "We're not clever like you southerners. When we say we'll do something, we do it."





	1. Wedding night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow needs the Karstarks, Alys Karstark needs the wildling army.  
> But what about what Tormund needs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Tormund didn’t know what to do. The pale redheaded girl was whimpering as she was undressing, her northern wedding gown in a bundle around her ankles. She wanted to be brave just like her father, just like her brothers. She _had_ seen worse. Her father’s execution by Robb Stark was worse. After all the tragedy she thought she had paid her dues to the gods but the gods are never satisfied. After all the tragedy there was still room for humiliation.

She was untying her smallclothes with shaky hands when she heard his voice for the first time.

“Don’t.”

She lifted her head, tears blurring her vision, but she could still see his baffled face, his gaze almost pitiful upon her. She let her hands drop. He was just standing  there, the bed between them, still fully clothed with those wild furs of his. He had traveled all the way from Winterfell but he never even cared to put on something more appropriate for their wedding.

“My… lord?” she stuttered.

Tormund grimaced with contempt.

“I’m not-“ He paused and sighed impatiently. The things he would do for the ‘lord commandah’.

“This isn’t right,” he said shaking his head.

She felt relieved, then almost offended. She wiped her tears.

“I would never deny you or disgrace you.” She said the words she had been taught by her septa for years and years. “You are my lord, and my love.”

Tormund approached her and cupped her shoulders. She was freezing.

“But I am not a lord,” he said with his low reassuring voice. “And you are not my love.”

She looked at him dumbfounded.

“We are husband and wife,” she whispered trying to avoid his intense gaze. She knew her place.

“Because King Crow says so. Because my people need to find a safe home in your lands, and your lands need my people’s protection.”

“I… I understand,” she nodded and went about unlacing her smallclothes. Tormund stared in disbelief.

“I don’t… want _it_. I don’t want you. You understand me?”

She looked into those green eyes of his and nodded hesitantly. He took a step back, gave her one last glance (was it pity? Or worry?) and left the room. She just stood there with her wedding gown around her ankles.

Tormund rushed down the stairs to the Karhold courtyard, still pissed at himself for thinking he had no choice. He wondered how he let Snow talk him into it. How could those kneelers do that to themselves, torment little girls and marry their lands?

He stood still in the darkness and rubbed his face in frustration; he had never felt so weak before. And that’s when he heard the stairs squeaking and saw the only person he was not supposed to see that night, on those stairs.

She stopped. She felt compelled to say something, break the silence, but she was falling short of words. She was wearing those furs Sansa had sewn for her to wear at Tormund and Alys’ wedding and gods be damned, she looked _good_ in them. So good, so desirable in her feral attire. Leather and fur made her look like she was one of them. She _could_ be one of them had she said the word. But she never did. During the wedding she just stood there on Sansa’s side, silent and expressionless as a statue.

“I’m glad your people found land to settle. Jon Snow needs all the help he can get for the war to come,” she said finally, choosing her words very carefully.

Tormund chuckled in disappointment. “Then I guess everyone is happy,” he shrugged.

Brienne furrowed her brows. She knew she had done the right thing by not returning his feelings, it would only make things more complicated for both of them. Still she couldn’t help asking. She _had_ to ask.

“Aren’t you?”

“What.”

“Happy.”

Tormund gave her a long look. His eyes were shining in the dark but he was not the type to shed a tear, instead he gave her a faint smile.

“I used to be.”

He turned and left.

Brienne climbed the stairs back to Lady Sansa’s quarters, squeezing the handrail more with each step she took.


	2. Embroidery talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alys asks, Sansa gives advice, Brienne tries not to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Sansa gave a tiny yell and sucked her index finger. Embroidering was a tough job, bloodier than most people thought. Lady Karstark smiled at her, she was busy too sewing tiny silver suns on a large tunic.

“You’d think after all these years of practice I wouldn’t prick my fingers anymore,” Sansa joked.

“If you bleed on your handiwork more people will like it when you finish it, that’s what my septa used to say,” Alys smiled.

“Then I should prick my fingers more often.”

They laughed. Brienne was standing behind them patiently, observing them. They looked like sisters with their long red hair and pale skin. Lady Sansa was in a particularly curious mood that day. She leaned over Alys’ tunic.

“Let me guess, it’s for him,” she teased her companion.

Alys lifted her head giving her a hesitant half-smile.

“It is. I hear his name day is near, Lady Brienne told me.” She gave their guard a grateful look. Brienne nodded respectfully but didn’t return the smile.

“I’m sure he’ll love it,” Sansa said. “It’s about time he got rid of those shaggy furs. He’s a lord now.”

Alys tried to hide her worry but Sansa couldn’t help noticing.

“What is it?”

“I’m not so sure… he likes it here…” Alys sighed.

“Why do you say that?” Sansa asked putting her dress aside.

“He’s…” Alys hesitated, she didn’t want to speak ill of her husband. “He wakes up early in the morning, even before sunrise, goes hunting alone, and never comes back before sunset. And when he does he’s too tired to spend time with me. He’s almost never here.”

Alys lowered her eyes, she had already said too much. Sansa felt sympathy for the girl. She took her hand.

“He’s a wildling, Alys, wildlings don’t do well in stone walls. They’ve spent their whole lives in wooden huts and tents. That’s why they’re called wildlings, they’re wild like the wind but I’m sure in time-“

_“Free folk.”_

Sansa turned to Brienne. Her guardian’s words were rare these last few days and this was the first thing that came out of her mouth since that morning.

“What was that?”

“Free folk. They call themselves the free folk.” Brienne was almost thinking out loud although she knew it wasn’t her place to make corrections. She had never done that before, never in her life. Suddenly she felt ashamed.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” she said almost panicking, shifting her eyes from Alys to Sansa. “I meant no disrespect. I just thought it would please Lord Karstark if Lady Alys learned a few things about his people and his culture.”

“Thank you, Lady Brienne,” Alys said awkwardly. “I _want_ to learn more.”

Sansa couldn’t help noticing Brienne’s flushed cheeks before turning back to Alys. “Marriage is a complicated thing but you can trust me, and you can trust Brienne. I wish I had good friends around me when I got married, then again marriage was forced upon me both times, I don’t know if friends would have made things easier…”

Her eyes wandered off but she was quick to put on a forced smile.

“However it doesn’t have to be like this for you. Tormund is an honest caring man, I’m sure he respects you and your needs.”

Brienne felt her heart stop, biting her lower lip. She didn’t want to hear any of it. She wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible, find a nice hole in the ground far away from the castle and burry her head in it so she could scream her lungs out.

“I… I guess so.” Alys lowered her eyes once more. “I wish I wasn’t so scared.”

“Does he mistreat you? I mean when you’re alone,” Sansa asked.

“What? Oh no, mistreat me… how. It’s not like we’re ever alone together. It’s been nearly a month and…”

Sansa’s eyes opened wide.

“And?”

“…”

Brienne’s breath hitched. It couldn’t be true. The gods couldn’t be _that_ good.

“Never?” Sansa asked in utter surprise.

Alys shook her head. She didn’t know if it was a good thing discussing her husband’s abstinence with others but it was too late now.

“You have to be patient,” Sansa tried to comfort her. “Everything is new to him as it is to you. Give him time. I’m sure you and him will fill Karhold with quite a few little lords and ladies very soon.”

Alys smiled gratefully. Brienne shut her eyes as soon as she made sure Lady Sansa wasn’t looking. She had fallen from despair to hope then back to despair.

_“Please don’t encourage her, oh gods, please…”_

She squeezed her eyes tighter. Then she felt such shame for her disloyal thoughts that she realized she deserved a bigger hole in the ground, big enough to swallow her whole. When she opened her eyes again the two girls were giggling and discussing other matters, trivial, innocent, unimportant matters.

Brienne sighed with relief.


	3. Hunting stags and marital advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund wants to be alone but someone thinks it's time for a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Tormund stretched his bow and held his breath. The stag was just standing there, looking towards him but not at him. He knew how to hide, he knew it well. The animal blinked and stopped chewing. Had it seen him? It was now or never. Tormund stretched his bow to the full and for a moment, just for a split second he wished he was in the stag’s place.

The arrow left the bow with a hissing sound but missed its target. The stag made a leap and vanished. Tormund sighed and closed his eyes in disappointment.

“Next time perhaps you shouldn’t hesitate.”

Tormund turned his head startled. There she was in her armour, riding her horse like she was born on it, prouder and stronger than the Warrior himself.

“It’s quite alright,” he said indifferently and turned back to his bow. “I could do this all day.”

“Perhaps not. Lady Karstark is worried you might exhaust yourself like you did yesterday and the day before. She suggests you take some rest and return home-“

“I’m not tired.”

“-or at least allow me to accompany you lest you be ambushed by renegades or outlaws lurking the woods.”

Tormund didn’t try to hide his sarcastic smile.

“Then she doesn’t know who she married.”

“She married a fearless free folk leader. A leader who is now a lord and has responsibilities.”

“And she sent you to do what, be my wet nurse?” he said trying to tighten the bow’s string. “Why did she send _you_ anyway…” he muttered while he tied the string as tightly as possible.

“Because she _trusts_ me.” Brienne’s response was firm, cutting the air like a knife. She immediately regretted being so abrupt, it would show she was losing her patience with him.

Tormund let the string loose and took a deep breath. His panting mouth turned into a grin.

“Alright,” he nodded mockingly and raised his brow. “Hopefully Sansa’s in good hands because this is going to be one long hunt.”

“Lady Sansa is quite safe, thank you very much,” Brienne hissed.

 

 

They had been riding for more than an hour without exchanging a single word. Every now and then Tormund would stop and listen, then he’d tap the horse with his heels and continue. After a while he stopped looking for game, instead he just rode silently, solemn and tired. The lines around his eyes had deepened since the last time she saw him, Brienne thought. She just couldn’t bear the silence anymore.

“You should sleep more. Rest more.”

Tormund turned slowly and gave her a tired look. Then he turned back to his horse.

“I mean it. Your work is not done. Jon Snow is going south with Ser Davos, Lady Sansa and you with the rest of the lords will have to guard the north.”

“Tell Snow there’s no need to worry. He’ll get his army when he needs it.” His voice was hoarse, it made him sound old.

“I’m not talking about the army. I’m talking about you.”

“Why the sudden concern?” Tormund snapped half closing his eyes.

Brienne shook her head.

“It’s not sudden," she complained.

“Is it not.”

“Why do you have to be like that?”

“Like what.”

“Like… _that_. You just got married. You should be happy.”

“Oh, _that_ again. I doubt my happiness concerns you.”

“It does concern me,” Brienne bit her lip. She had said too much already.

He turned to face her. She couldn’t face him though, she kept staring at the reins.

“If it ‘did concern you’…” Tormund paused and shut his eyes, trying to swallow the bitter words that were about to come out of his mouth. “Gods be damned, why does it matter now…” he said through his teeth.

Brienne looked at him with the tiniest glimmer of hope. She felt ashamed for doing this to him now but it was obvious that neither of them was happy. Soon she’d have to follow Jon south and it would be too late.

He didn’t return her look.

“If-if you can’t be happy you could at least make Lady Karstark happy,” she said frustrated at his silence with an almost hysterical tone. “Give her a baby, something to fill her days with when you’ll be gone fighting.” Finally she was acting like the sworn sword she was, doing the right thing, saying the right words. She took a deep breath and uttered the words she feared so much. “Give Karhold an heir. It’s the right thing to do.”

Tormund chuckled as he leaned back on the horse. Their conversation was almost amusing. He blinked, his lids heavy on his eyes, and smiled bitterly.

“Look at you, giving me marital advice. What do you know of marriage?”

Brienne made no sound. He was hitting her and hitting hard.

“I know what women want. They want marriage, they want babies.”

“How about what I want?”

“Then you shouldn’t have agreed to this marriage in the first place!” Brienne snapped out of control. She was definitely not herself anymore.

“We both know why I did it,” Tormund hissed leaning towards her. “The oath I made was to Jon. I’m doing this for him. I thought you’d understand.”

Brienne could hear the despair in his voice echoing her own.

“Then go ahead. Have babies,” she said trying not to pout.

“I can’t.”

“Why not.”

“I can’t fuck her. She’s not…” He grimaced in pain. “She’s not… _tall enough_.”

He gave an angry grunt as he tapped the horse violently with his heels and rode off leaving Brienne behind.


	4. Girl talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to give Alys sex advice.  
> And Brienne has to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Alys and Sansa were taking a stroll outside the castle, stopping every now and then at the edge of the hill to enjoy the view. The mist had begun to disperse, the landscape, ghostly at first, looked more and more like an enchanted seat of faeries.  Sunshine had already become a rare thing but that day the sun was surprisingly generous on the girls whose hair shone like rivers of melted bronze. Brienne was close behind them, hilt in hand, listening to their whispers and giggles. It was clear now that they either trusted her not to tell on them or her presence was barely noticeable.

Sansa almost tripped over a rock but Alys grabbed her hand and held her upright. Sansa giggled even louder to Alys, to herself. They treated each other more like sisters with each passing day. For the first time Brienne wished she had a sister too, someone to confess things to. As she saw Sansa losing her balance Brienne tried to catch her, thus getting closer to the girls. Now she could hear them clearly.

“Well I wouldn’t be so afraid,” Sansa said with false arrogance. “I’d ask him what he likes. What do you think he likes?”

“I don’t know,” Alys shrugged. “What all men like..?”

“Yes but not all men like the same things. I mean they do but… some of them like variety.”

Alys looked at her puzzled.

“Well I don’t know,” continued Sansa. “What would you like to do to him? Let’s start with that.”

“If he was naked? Let me see… First off that belly of his. Squishy. And his bottom.”

“What would you do with it?”

“I don’t know, bite it?”

The girls burst into laughter as Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Then what?” said Sansa. “You can’t just bite a man’s bottom.”

“Yes you can! What else is there to do?”

“Well as you know men have other… appendages.”

“Oh. _Ooooooh_. Well I don’t want to go there. We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

“It’s alright, he can’t hear us,” grinned Sansa.

 _But I can._ Brienne sighed helplessly.

“You have to know all men like being licked,” Sansa said with a tiny smirk. “As do women.”

Brienne sighed even louder.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Alys blushed.

“Of course he will! He would be an idiot not to.”

They were getting back to the castle. As the gate opened to welcome them the smell of roasted meat was already coming out of the kitchens.

Alys saw two servant girls carrying a large tray with pork on it, smiling at a handsome guard and whispering in each other’s ears. She bit her lip with a mischievous smile. She was just getting the hang of this kind of conversation, ready to push the limits. “Do you think Tormund could handle two women at once?”

“The question should be… can two women handle Tormund?” Sansa replied.

The girls burst into hysterical laughter making the soldiers and servants around them look in astonishment. But for Brienne the world went black and every sound was muffled like she was at the bottom of the sea. When Sansa turned to her she was white as a sheet.

“Brienne, are you alright?”

“Lady Sansa, I ask your permission to leave. I’m not… I’m not feeling very well.”

“What is the matter?” Sansa was genuinely worried.

“I’m sorry… My stomach… I need to sit down for a moment.”

Brienne hesitated no longer. She walked away nervously as the two girls watched her disappear into the castle.


	5. Midnight sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are better things to do in the middle of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Tormund knew how to kiss. His kisses were soft and elaborate and delicate. He also knew how to touch. He never hurt her or made her feel uncomfortable. It was still a bit awkward but Alys knew they’d soon warm up to each other, learn each other’s preferences and tastes. She tried to do to him the things Sansa hinted at but he wouldn’t let her, as if he was only interested in her pleasure alone. Or maybe those kinds of kisses and touches were just too intimate for him. Maybe it was just too early.

He shifted his weight between her legs leaning on his elbows, smiled at her and caressed her messed up hair. She knew what was coming next, almost anticipated it. He lifted up his pelvis a bit, only to let it down with a sigh. He moved his hand between their bodies and that’s when she felt something. Still he seemed dissatisfied, uneasy. He kissed her again, more passionately this time but his kiss felt cold. He caressed her breasts with one hand, putting the other between their legs once more. He let his head hang as he sighed in disappointment.

“It’s... it’s been a long day,” he apologized.

“Don’t you want me?” Alys whispered in a guilty tone that broke his heart.

“No it’s not… of course I want you, of _course_! I want… I want to give you babes. Lots of them. We’ll have a dozen babes, I promise.”

Alys smiled. She stood up and grabbed his shoulder decisively.

“Maybe… Maybe if I get on top-“ she suggested trying to push him down.

“No no, _NO!”_

Tormund wouldn’t let her near him. He brushed his hair back avoiding her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep, Alys, I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll go for a walk, I need some air. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Alys couldn’t believe her eyes. She just stood there, her pale naked body resembling the moon on a cloudy night, looking at her husband as he got dressed hastily and left the room without a word.

 

There was nothing like the cold night air, the peaceful grave-like stillness of the sleeping castle and the hills around it. Tormund felt relieved that there was no one around watching him neglect his marital duties. A month ago he wouldn’t give a damn about those stupid kneeler traditions but now he had to play by their rules. Jon Snow’s rules. Damn him for talking him into this. He thought about the naked girl in his bed trying to feel sorry for her but his mind kept going back to the moment when he came back from hunting that day. His wife had run to greet him as she fell into his arms. He was surprised to see such joy in her eyes, the kind of gratitude she would never see in his, and he felt bad for both of them. He smiled at the cute lass in his arms, then he lifted his eyes and saw _her_.

He refused to think of her name, it still hurt. But she was just standing there, at the other end of the yard, pale as the god of death himself, staring at them both. She looked ill, tired, her feverish gaze never letting him go. He knew if she wasn’t stubborn as a mule he’d probably be seeing tears in her eyes but she’d never give him _that_ pleasure.

He got angry at her. If she hadn’t been so thick headed, so proud, it would be her in his arms now, not this child.

_So be it._

He leaned over Alys and kissed her passionately. She was his wife now, both him and Brienne should get used to it.

He crossed the yard trying to shake off his dark thoughts. A faint clanging was echoing in the night. As he followed the sound he went through archways, past the stable and there he saw the tall blond figure grunting and panting as she was hitting with her sword a sack filled with hay. The sack had been reduced to a bundle of rags, hay coming out of a hundred holes, the wooden pole from which it was hanging barely standing. She was still hitting it with all her might, the light of a single torch casting long shadows on the walls, drops of sweat falling from her hair. Her grunts were getting louder, angrier, more desperate.

She was reliving the day over and over again. The girls giggling, describing all sorts of body parts and indecent things, things about him she wasn’t supposed to know. Things she didn’t _have_ to know. Alys running into his arms like the happy wife she was and him being just as affectionate or at least acting like it. For a moment there Brienne thought he was looking back at her with the same longing, the same despair, as though he knew what she was going through. But then he kissed his wife so fiercely, so passionately, sticking his tongue in her mouth and making sure people were watching, that Brienne had to avert her eyes.

With a final clang she cut the pole in two as she screamed in pain and frustration. She let her arms drop trying to catch her breath.

No, it didn’t feel any better.

“You’ll ruin your sword.”

Brienne turned, still panting. How long had he been standing there?

“It’s Valyrian steel,” she said coldly. “It cannot be ruined. Not by wood anyway.” She looked at her hand, it was starting to bleed. She twisted her achy fingers.

“It’s a mighty weapon,” Tormund said with honest admiration. “I always wanted to tell you that.”

 _Always_.

“Jon Snow told me it can smash a white walker to pieces with a single blow.”

“’Sounds like a fine sword,” Tormund said. He was really impressed. “Where did you get it?”

“It was given to me as a gift.”

“A gift! That’s quite generous. By whom?”

Brienne didn’t give much thought to his indiscretion.

“By someone who no longer matters.”

Her eyes wandered off. It seemed she was running out of friends and there he stood, the only man she never knew she needed.

“What are you doing here though?”

“Same as you,” he said as he came closer, looking at her grey tunic that was now loose on the collar. “Couldn’t sleep.” His eyes didn’t move an inch from her bosom, his gaze so tangible she felt almost titillated.

She forced a smile. “Shouldn’t you be with your wife? She missed you, you know.” She reached for her gambeson that she had left hanging from a fence.

Tormund sighed and lowered his head in frustration.

“Conjugal duties are the last thing I want to think about at this moment. It’s not easy being a lord, I tell you. I can’t… She thinks it’s her fault but…”

Brienne’s breath hitched. She tried not to show her enthusiasm. If he still hadn’t touched Alys, if he _couldn’t_ touch her…

But she knew she wasn’t supposed to show her feelings. She took an indifferent tone.

“Well you said it yourself, I’m not qualified to give marital advice, so…”

Tormund looked up at her, evidently hurt.

“I’m tired, Brienne.”

“Then you should go to bed.”

He shook his head.

“A bed is not what I need right now.”

“What is it that you need?”

“A good reason to stay awake until morning.”

There it was again, the look he gave her as he was holding Alys earlier that day, despair and hope and longing. Brienne took a deep nervous breath. He wouldn’t fool her this time.

“I know a way, but you need a sword.” She put the gambeson back.

“Oh no, too much noise. We wouldn’t want to wake everyone up with our screams, _would we_?”

“No swords then,” she said decisively, ignoring his warm welcoming tone. “Let’s spar.”

“What do I get if I win?” he said smugly half-closing his eyes.

Brienne smiled at him confidently and shook her head.

“You won’t win...”

Tormund smiled back. That was the Brienne he knew. The Brienne he _loved_. It felt as if they were meeting for the first time, no obligations, no political marriages, nothing. Just that strong confident woman, the strongest female he ever saw, making him want to make love to her, to tame her.

“Yes but what if I do win? What do I get?” he insisted.

“What you _really_ need: you’ll be tired enough to get a good night’s sleep.” And she threw her fist at him.

He was quick enough to avoid the first blow but not the second. She was too quick, too strong. The pain struck him hard but he wasn’t soft on her either. At first he chose to pull back as she threw herself at him, or duck. Then he just charged with his whole body grabbing her by the ribs, crushing her on the wall. She gasped loudly but their violent embrace enabled her to kick him in the stomach.

He rolled on the ground.

“You make me lose my breath, girl,” he moaned. “Just not the way I want.”

Brienne laughed leaning on her knees as she reached out to him.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered panting. Sweat was running down her neck and disappearing in her cleavage under her tunic, a thing that didn’t go unnoticed by Tormund who was already flustered. It was a great idea to remove her gambeson after all even if the cold had settled in, she was steaming hot with all that struggle.

Tormund used her hand to lift himself up.

“Don’t stop,” he said shaking his head. He smiled as he lowered his forehead. “Don’t _ever_ stop.”

With a scream Brienne threw herself at him once more. He grabbed her, squeezed her tight making her ribs hurt, making it almost impossible for her to breathe but she twisted and turned until her arms were free to punch him. It was all in vain, he was stronger now, sturdier. With a mighty twirl he threw her on the ground and pinned her down squeezing her wrists over her head until they hurt. She struggled as she felt his grip tighten.

“You’ll want to get off if you don’t want to get your parts bruised,” she breathed heavily.

“Promises promises…” He leaned over her face, his hungry lips barely touching her flushed skin but never really fulfilling their promise. He just wanted to see if he could make her beg. He could do this all night.

She took a deep breath as she shifted under his warm delicious weight. She could feel him through his pants now, almost feeling the blood flow, his member throbbing with excitement.

He was too distracted with her underneath him which gave her the opportunity to free one of her wrists and land a slap on his bearded face. He yelled, more in surprise than actual pain, and let her go. She flipped him over and straddled him.

 _That’s it. Stay. Stay there like a good boy._ She couldn’t believe she was thinking that. It made her feel shameful and dirty and wanted.

There she was, practically riding him, having him at her mercy, his large cock pulsating with excitement and desire between her legs. She thought she might play a little more, it wouldn’t hurt him, would it? She tightened her thighs around him, making the squeeze harder, causing him to moan just a little. He closed his eyes and moaned. His hands ran up her thighs, cupped her buttocks and squeezed hard. The sensation was incredible as she closed her eyes.

“Gods, Brienne, you’re driving me insane…” he exhaled hopelessly, eyes still shut. His fingers squeezed her hips even harder.

She buried her fingers in the ground and rubbed her body up and down his member once more, harder this time. Another moan from him, another helpless sigh, deeper, more desperate. He clasped her hips fiercely, this time he wouldn’t let her go. As he opened his eyes she saw a strange darkness in them. He lifted his head and he returned the thrusts, only his were much faster, much more violent.

She let out a tiny surprised yell as she felt a strange tickling at the bottom of her spine. She had felt it before, only back then she was alone and using her fingers. Her lower lips were unfolding for him. Two more thrusts and she knew she’d come, she was already too wet even though there were layers of tight fabric between them. He wouldn’t let her go. She arched her back as Tormund reached for her breasts. She tried to pull away thinking what they were doing was wrong but he wouldn’t let her go. With one last thrust she reached climax sighing deeply and through her half closed eyes she saw his ecstasy as well. She felt his pants fill with sudden warmth. She couldn’t believe what they had just done, keeping their clothes on and getting each other off like that.

His hands were still on her breasts cuddling them, his half closed eyes filled with gratitude and bliss. He gave a faint smile as he was trying to catch his breath, no words could describe what he was feeling.

“Brienne… I…”

His exhausted arms slowly slid down her body and settled on her thighs, caressing them gently as the aftershocks of his orgasm were sweeping his body.

It was hard to breathe, to speak, and then reality came crashing down on her. She let her head drop, taking one final breath before she had to face the inevitable truth. She looked at his crotch.

“I… I think you can fulfill your conjugal duties now. I think you’re ready. I won’t… keep you any longer.”

Tormund froze. He couldn’t believe how cruel she could be. Not after what they had done.

Brienne got up in a hurry avoiding his eyes completely. She took her gambeson and her sword and left before he could even get up.

Light was starting to break over the mountains.


	6. The bigger scheme of things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone cares about kings and queens but never about pawns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Lord Robin Arryn dismounted and glanced around Karhold’s courtyard. He seemed more tired and pale than usual but his exhaustion didn’t keep him from taking a disdainful look.

“It is nothing like the Eyrie, Lord Royce,” he exclaimed. “It’s not on top of the mountains, these are mere hills, rocks dropped from the skies by giants, nothing more. And I don’t see a moon door.”

Yohn Royce sighed and forced a smile.

“It is a stronghold as good as any,” he replied. “But let’s not waste any more time, your cousin is waiting.”

“When we’re married she’ll come live with me in the Eyrie. Sansa has no use for rocks fallen from the sky.”

 

“This is not what we agreed upon,” Sansa said irritated.

“You will be safer in the Vale,” Littlefinger tried to calm her. He looked at Jon for support. “Winterfell is yours, the Knights of the Vale helped you take it back, nothing will change that. Now the Knights need to go back, protect their lands, _your_ lands if you agree to this marriage. And you know very well the Eyrie is impregnable. If those creatures your brother keeps talking about exist I’m sure they won’t be able to reach you there.”

“But the north _needs_ me,” Sansa insisted. “Father used to say there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Littlefinger smirked. Finally his words seemed to have an impact on Sansa.

“Your brother is a Stark, Lady Mormont made sure there would be no doubts about that,” Littlefinger bowed to Lyanna.

Lyanna Mormont frowned, she didn’t like this Littlefinger character, never did.

Sansa didn’t want to be pushed. After she had helped Jon take back Winterfell she thought she would be free to make her own decisions, yet there she was, being forced away from her home once more. She pushed back the chair. Brienne, who had been standing behind her all this time, pulled the chair further back helping her to get up.

“I’ll-I’ll have to think about it,” Sansa said. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Brienne started to follow her but Sansa stopped her.

“I want to be alone for a while, Lady Brienne.”

“But my lady-“

“Please. I need time to think. You’re dismissed.”

Brienne was about to object but Jon’s look stopped her. “I’ll be with her,” he reassured her.

Brienne looked worried but nodded respectfully. After all she was indeed the last person to give good marital advice, especially to Lady Sansa. Someone had made sure to remind her.

She heard that someone approach her, he was the last person to get up from the table, the only one left in the room. She didn’t flee, she just stood there facing the window, pretending the hills around them were more important than the man who was now standing behind her not uttering a word. He probably was mad at her for dumping him like that after she had just sent him to seven heavens the night before. He didn’t scold her or make any bitter comments, he just stood behind her, trying not to scare her away as if she was a phantom, a vision; trying to find the right words.

“You gave me quite a night yesterday, girl,” he whispered finally, running the back of his fingers up her forearm slowly, teasingly. His fingers felt so tender, their tips tickling her clothed skin, warming her whole body, filling her with anticipation. She tried not to close her eyes, not to sigh. She just blinked, her eyelids barely quivering.

“I can only imagine what it’s going to be like being inside you,” he sighed, his low voice burning with desire as he lowered his gaze upon her hips. “I will probably lose my mind if it ever happens,” he chuckled. “But I prefer that to losing my mind over not having you.”

“This-“ Brienne stuttered. “This won’t happen again” she said in a cold decisive manner. She lowered her head in shame. “It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.”

“But it did. It _did,”_ he whispered through his clenched teeth. “I couldn’t calm myself after that. Having you on top of me, squeezing the life out of me…  Gods, I don’t even know how I kept myself from having my way with you. It would have been one long night, I tell you. ”

He was already giving Brienne images of them together, their sweaty bodies half lit by the torch, him covering her mouth so as not to wake up anyone. She tried not to get carried away, his words were already pumping through her veins, burning her down there.

He was more audacious than she thought a newly wed lord might be in his own castle, with his young wife sewing in one of the other rooms. He placed his lips carefully on her shoulder knowing what effect that would have on her body.

Brienne couldn’t hold her sighs any longer.

“Tormund, please… Let it go.”

“I won’t,” he said in a muffled voice not taking his lips off her. Instead he positioned himself right behind her, steadying her hips with his hands, almost touching her with his body.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything,” he muttered. She had never heard him so sad before. The memory was painful to both of them. “At first I thought you loved another man but Podrick assured me you didn’t have anyone waiting for you, no one you could be with anyway. You always seemed to avoid me. I thought I was alone in this. You never let me look at you without turning your back on me. I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you…” Brienne said biting her lip.

“Then why,” he said putting his hands gently on her shoulders, caressing her exposed neck with his thumbs. “Why didn’t you say anything when Snow suggested I marry the Karhold heir? When I saw you not blinking an eye when he told me of his plan, when you just stood there during my wedding with that girl-“

“You didn’t say anything either,” Brienne snapped trying to hold back her tears. “You just agreed to Jon Snow’s plan. I didn’t want to intervene. Besides my place is with Lady Sansa, I’m her sworn sword. I’ve taken a vow to protect her, I couldn’t run off with… with you.”

Tormund knew what she meant. Before he met her he was proud to be a free folk. His people were the best, they knew how to fight, how to fuck, how to live. But when this woman came into his life things had got too complicated. He loved it at first, everything was new and exciting. Then he found out what “shame” meant. Shame for being an illiterate savage. Shame for not knowing how to court a southron woman. Shame for not meeting her standards, as if there was any need for them.

He let his hands drop and Brienne suddenly felt cold.

 

“I’m indebted to Snow for saving me and my people, you’ve sworn to protect his sister. Look at as us both, living our lives for others…”

He touched her shoulder one more time, hoping she’d do something, say something, hoping she’d make him stay. She didn’t. She just stood there facing the window, never turning.

“I shall bother you no longer.”

His voice broke her heart, but not even that made her turn. He left the room and only after his footsteps faded away did she become aware of the tears on her cheeks.


	7. Weary travelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long way to the Eyrie, with all kinds of dangers lurking in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

It was still dark, the sun hadn’t risen yet but the Karhold yard was bustling with people getting ready for the journey. The young lord of the Eyrie was watching Yohn Royce prepare his mount for the long ride back home as he turned to Littlefinger.

“Why aren’t you coming with us, uncle? I’ll miss you,” he complained.

“I’ll be coming soon, really soon for your wedding, my sweet boy.”

“I don’t feel safe without you. There are thieves out there, outlaws, all kinds of bad people.”

“I’m sure Lord Royce and Lady Brienne will take care of you and your future wife. No disaster will come upon you I assure you.”

Littlefinger reached for Sweetrobin’s cheeks and kissed him on the forehead.

“Travel safely,” he said with a reassuring smile resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I will soon join you with the greatest wedding gift you can imagine.”

Robin tried to look happy for his favourite uncle. He didn’t like much his traveling companions except maybe Lord Royce who had been with him since he was born. Sansa was ok, maybe, although she had a grim look on her face ever since he had come to Karhold to ask her hand in marriage, the ungrateful snob. But that beast of a woman who was her shadow wherever she went, he didn’t like that one at all. Mother would have made her fly through the Moon Door, the abomination that she was just like that little Lannister baby man. Very big or very small people had no place in Sweetrobin’s world.

He straddled his horse with a sigh and rode off with Sansa, Lord Royce and Brienne.

 

\---------------------

 

 

They rode in silence with the exception of Sweetrobin who would chat with Lord Royce every now and then, and would make them stop to have a pee, a snack, or to follow a rabbit, a squirrel or a hawk in the sky. Owls were his favourites and if he happened to spot one on a branch he would stop the group making them wait for minutes that felt like hours as he watched the curious bird entranced by its feathers and huge eyes. Sansa would watch him with steely eyes, Brienne would roll hers but say nothing, and only Lord Royce would smile condescendingly. Sweetrobin was his lord and his protégé and Royce would do anything for that boy.

As the sun was setting and the shadows were getting longer, intimidating like the skeleton fingers of ghosts, Brienne felt the chill night air creeping under her armour and she wrapped up her furs around her, shivering. Her sharp senses wouldn’t let a leaf drop without her looking into it, and the wind through the branches was never “just the wind”. She was so alert that she heard the hoofbeats from a distance and drew her sword as she stayed behind the group. She listened carefully.

“What is it, Brienne?” Sansa asked who was too tired from the long ride.

“There’s someone there,” Brienne said sharply. She looked like a wolf sniffing the air, her body stiffened with adrenaline, her eyes wide open cutting through the dark.

“Thieves!” Robin cried.

“Shush!” Brienne whispered.

“Oh gods, uncle Petyr promised we would be safe, oh gods oh gods oh gods-“

“Will you shut your mouth?” Sansa tugged him.

Brienne lifted her sword waiting for the enemy to come out of the woods. And there he was in his furs, his white and grey lord-like clothing, the thick darkness around him doing nothing to dull his glorious red beard. 

Robin was staring like an idiot, Lord Royce squeezed the reins tightly, Brienne blinked in disbelief. “Lord… Karstark?” she said.

 “Will you ever stop with that…” Tormund muttered riding past her. He approached Sansa and the rest.

It took a minute for Brienne to form a sentence in her head that would make sense. 

“What are you doing here?” she insisted trying to keep her calm, clearly irritated.

“King Crow thought it would be safer for his sister to be accompanied in this long journey by his most trusted ally. I don’t mean to offend but a boy and an old man are not sufficient escort for the future Lady of the Eyrie and the sister of the King in the North. Forgive me, _my lady_ , I assure you it was Jon Snow who suggested Lady Sansa would be exposed to all kinds of dangers even with you protecting her.” And as he said that he took a little bow with a mocking smile.

“Why didn’t he send you with us in the first place?” Lord Royce protested suspiciously.

Tormund shrugged. “We thought it would be better for our enemies to think I left Karhold to go hunting, that’s why I rode off before you and caught you now.”

Tormund’s smug grin wasn’t very reassuring. Brienne looked the other way and rolled her eyes for the last time that day. _That. Man_.

Soon enough they should find an inn to spend the night. As Lord Royce followed a track leading to the nearest inn Brienne approached Tormund who was strutting like a peacock on a horse.

“I asked once and I’ll ask once again,” she said through gritted teeth so that no one else could hear. “What. Are you doing. _Here_.”

Tormund broke into a satisfied smile without bothering to look at her. He was already having too much fun; the best idea he had in ages.

“The answer remains the same. I’m here for Sansa’s protection. Jon Snow’s orders.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” she whispered as anger welled up inside her. For a moment there she thought everyone was listening and looked worriedly behind her. Thankfully Sansa was too tired to overhear them, she was trying hard to keep her eyes open as it was. Brienne turned to face the road again. “Would you leave your wife and your land to be Lady Sansa’s… bodyguard?  What about your people that you left behind?”

“You can keep your questions for Snow when you see him. As I said it wasn’t my idea.”

He was lying through his teeth. The shameless bastard.

“Alys is safe, Jon has left his people guarding Karhold,” Tormund continued. “Also he doesn’t trust this Littlepecker character but don’t tell anyone. That sneaky weasel was too eager to send Sansa away. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were ambushed along the road.”

“Why would Lord Baelish want Lady Sansa attacked? I know he’s not to be trusted but he just arranged this marriage with his nephew.”

“I don’t know. All I know is you’re in danger travelling these roads.”

“All the more reason for you to stay safe in your castle. With your _wife_.”

Tormund gave her an enigmatic look beneath his heavy eyelids, his eyes betraying a smile that his lips wouldn’t reveal. The darkness made him look eerie and otherworldly, surrounding him with a mysterious aura that was more appealing than threatening, like a lesser forest god coming out of a tree to trick them or protect them depending on his godly mood.

Brienne shook her head hopelessly; she wasn’t satisfied with his evasive answers. Confrontation it was then.

“I told you to let it go…” she said reluctantly. “You said you would bother me no longer.”

Tormund opened his eyes so wide in fake astonishment that she immediately regretted being so direct. His grin was so big, so self-satisfied that Brienne would gladly break his teeth right then and there.

“Who told you this is about you?” he said in an amused tone. “Not everything is about you, woman.”

For a split second everything went red and Brienne thought she heard voices saying _“kill him kill him kill him”_. No one ever dared call her _woman_ , not if he cherished his life.

“Do you want to die, _Lord Karstark_?” she said as she approached her face to his menacingly. That would normally give Tormund the boner of a lifetime if her eyes weren’t black as the night and deadly as her sword that was now half unsheathed.

An act that did nothing to wipe that grin off his face.

“Not today, Lady Brienne” he said shaking his head. “Not today.”

And he galloped away towards the flickering light in the dark that was coming out of the inn’s windows.

That was going to be one long night.


	8. Blueberry tarts and lemon cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweetrobin isn't so sweet when he's asking for dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

They ordered sweet pumpkin soup, pork pie and turnips in butter. Sweetrobin ate most of their food, he had quite an appetite that boy. When the time came for dessert the little lord demanded he had lemon cakes and blueberry tarts but the inn  keeper said they only served honeycombs in bowls with warm goat milk.

“But I want lemon cakes!” Robin protested loudly.

“Calm down, my lord,” Royce said. “We don’t want to make a fuss.”

Robin kept fidgeting as his annoyance grew and the inn clients started looking on.

“We are too far north for lemon cakes, my lord,” Sansa said, her own irritation growing bigger all the time. “We don’t have lemons here.”

Robin grunted like an angry puppy fighting for its food. Sansa tried to hold him down but he kept slapping her hands away.

“Where I come from children like him help the dogs herd the goats. And if the  dogs get hungry and eat them, even better. The children, not the goats, we need the goats.”

“ _Tormund_!” Brienne protested, shocked at his cruelty.

“That’s Lord Karstark to _you,_ ” he corrected her joyously. Brienne looked daggers at him. These people didn’t know how to treat a child like Lord Arryn.

She reached out to touch Robin’s hand, and when he pulled it away she placed her hand on his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes.

“My lord?” she said in a calm but firm voice. “The inn keeper wasn’t informed in advance of your arrival because as you said there are thieves and bad people looking for us. So there was no way he could have lemon cakes and blueberry tarts waiting for you. However I assure you as soon as we get to the Eyrie I will personally see that your favourite desserts are prepared for your enjoyment. I promise.”

Robin looked into Brienne’s big blue eyes and somehow knew this giant of a woman was telling the truth. Ever since his mother died everyone around him would always make promises they’d never keep, or tell him things just to soothe him momentarily. But for the first time someone actually seemed to care, someone who would definitely keep her promise.

“Lemons take a long time to get to the Eyrie from Highgarden, or even King’s Landing,” Lord Royce said thoughtfully. “I shall have to send them a message promptly.”

“You do that then!” Robin said clapping his hands in excitement. “I want my lemon cakes ready for me when I get back home, the giantess made a promise!”

“Yes, little lord,” Brienne answered softly and she gave him a radiant smile as she retrieved her hand. “I made a promise and I shall keep it.”

Lord Royce got up to ask the inn keeper if they could find a messenger boy  this late at night while Sansa smiled at Brienne proudly.

“Come along, my lord,” Sansa said as she got up and took Robin’s hand. “It’s high time you were in bed. The earlier you rise on the morrow the faster we’ll reach your home and those lemon cakes.”

While Lord Royce was talking to a young man and writing his message Sansa accompanied Robin to the room he was sharing with his guardian. Tormund was right behind Brienne as she walked up the stairs trying hard not to look at her rear.

“I didn’t know you were that good with children,” he said amazed. “Especially children like him.”

Brienne didn’t expect to get a compliment for that. “We had children like him in Tarth,” she admitted.

“Tarth?”

“My island.” She tried to hide how homesick she felt. “Some of them didn’t like being touched. Some _needed_ to be touched and spoken to in a soft voice in order to listen to others. They were all different but they had one thing in common, they didn’t like too much noise or too many distractions, it was too stressful for them. We used to call them ‘moon babes.”

“Not all moon babes are insufferable and spoilt like him, I’m sure.”

“He’s a lord, what did you expect? People with no patience spoil these children in order to shut them up.”

“You know a lot about children,” he said admiringly. “Perhaps you should teach me a thing or two.”

Brienne stopped outside Sansa’s door and rested her hand on the pommel.

“Perhaps. When you finally decide to have children of your own.”

Tormund chuckled at her jab as he held his hands behind his back.

“Well, I _plan to_.”

Was she supposed to take a hint? No, probably not. Brienne gave him a fake grin. “That’s  good to know.”

Tormund opened his arms as if he was expecting a hug. Not that he’d openly ask for it.

“So? That’s goodnight I guess?”

“It is, yes,” Brienne replied half-closing her eyes. She was exhausted.

“You’re not going to your room?”

“In case you have forgotten I’m a sworn sword, I’ll be sleeping in Lady Sansa’s room.”

Now it was Tormund’s turn to grin from ear to ear. He rested his thumbs on his belt and leaned towards Brienne as he lowered his voice.

“Can I join you?” he said raising his eyebrows.

“NO.”

“Can I sit in the corner? I promise I won’t make a sound.”

 _“No!”_ Brienne was turning red.

“Can I put my ear on your door and sigh longingly?”

“No, how many times do I have to say it, a hundred times no!”

“Please?”

Brienne sighed impatiently. “What is it with you tonight?”

“You tell me you’re going to sleep with Sansa and you expect me to be calm and have a good night’s rest?”

“I won’t be sleeping _with_ Lady Sansa, I will be sleeping _by_ Lady Sansa. If at all.” She rolled her eyes, this conversation was getting way out of hand.

“Then my proposal remains,” Tormund smiled as if he had just offered her a castle made of solid gold. “Do you want me to join you later? Lady Sansa doesn’t have to be awake. As a matter of fact I don’t need her to be there at all. My tastes are a bit exclusive but I guess you know that by now.”

“I’m not your _taste!_ Now if you’ll excuse me-“

She pulled the pommel frantically but the door wouldn’t nudge one inch. She started kicking the door and pushing it at the same time. With an angry grunt she gave it one last kick and stepped back hopelessly, panting. Tormund, who had been watching her all this time with utter horror at first (“We’re going to have to pay for the bloody door, she’s going to bring it down”), then with amazement, was trying hard not to laugh. As Brienne stood back he gave her what he considered to be a charming smile, _turned_ the pommel and opened the door showing her the way in with a majestic gesture.

She muttered a quick frustrated “Thank you” and rushed into the room slamming the door behind her. Tormund raised his eyebrows and shrugged as he finally made his way to his own room. The memory of Brienne walking up the stairs in front of him and the thought of her with Sansa was enough to keep him awake all night long.


	9. The winged love goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got you under my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness follow me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Brienne couldn’t sleep. She was tossing and turning on the cold blankets on the floor that served as a mattress but her body couldn’t relax. Her fur wasn’t enough to warm her but even that shouldn’t be a problem, normally she would have passed out after such a long and exhausting journey. _Normally_.

She was thinking about Tormund’s words over and over again.

_“…You expect me to be calm and have a good night’s rest?”_

Did men… really do that? Save the memory of a woman for later? Well of course they did. _She_ did. She wasn’t too proud of it though, she didn’t go around making announcements like Tormund. When she was younger many boys would mock her saying they’d play with themselves at night thinking about her. She knew it was a lie and she was thankful for that, she didn’t want any part in their dirty games. Then one day she found herself bathing and touching herself down there. It felt good, it always felt good but it was never… good enough.

Until Tormund came along and her fantasies with him turned this finger pleasure into dreams of fire.

Not that she’d ever admit it to him of course, those times were very few anyway, and she preferred to forget about it come morning.

But… what if he _was_ touching himself right now? Thinking about her… and Sansa? No way, not a chance. Brienne knew men had certain tastes, and back in King’s Landing Lord Baelish’s establishments would serve any kind of perversion, the flower-on-flower experience included. Brienne shivered, she hated to think of Lady Sansa as one of Baelish’s girls. Even Lord Tyrion had tried that experience, he was never too shy to admit his indiscretions.

But when it came out of Tormund’s mouth it didn’t sound that dirty, did it? She knew he was just making a joke to tease her, show her how desirable she was, like a winged love goddess with big breasts like the ones they worshipped in Essos.

 _I’m not a bloody love goddess…_ she murmured through her teeth.

But she was. To him.

“Fine,” she whispered angrily and shook off her fur, almost waking up Sansa. The Stark girl shifted in her bed and Brienne shut her eyes and bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t woken her up. When she made sure Sansa was fast asleep she opened one eye, then the other, and got up. She started walking up and down the room. She put her ear on the wall between them and Tormund’s room. She exhaled impatiently letting her hands drop. Then, with the stealthy movements of a cat she tip toed towards the door, turned the pommel as slowly as she could squeezing her lips shut and exited just as quietly.

She waited until she was certain everyone in the inn was asleep before she walked towards Tormund’s door. She tried to peep through the keyhole but it was too dark to see anything. Then she heard it. The deep sigh. It was a low guttural sound coming out of his chest. His breathing wasn’t that of a sleeping man. Then another sigh, louder this time.

_It can’t be… He can’t be…_

But there he was, taking deep lustful breaths. It was him alright, she could recognize any sound coming out of his mouth be it growl, laughter or whisper. She felt like she was intruding his privacy but he couldn’t possibly know she was eavesdropping, could he? She kneeled and pressed her ear on the keyhole even harder, she didn’t want to miss a single sound coming out of his bed, out of his hungry lips, out of his eager hands. She was starting to feel the warmth too. It was intoxicating. Now she could hear the wet and persistent sound of skin on skin. His moans lasted a bit longer, they were a bit more desperate. Still she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure it was all about _her_.

 _This is Tormund, of course it’s about you_.

No it isn’t.

She heard him licking his fingers and his movement got faster. She would probably dismiss it all as the private relaxing time men spend with themselves regularly.

And that’s when she heard him whisper her name.

_“Oh gods… Brienne… Mmmm…”_

He was breathing through his nose now as the moaning came out of his closed mouth. His breath hitched. His hand was moving up and down in the frantic rhythm of self-satisfaction. It should have been _her_ hand on his stiff and sticky manhood, not his. It should have been her tongue teasing his tip, her lips pleasuring him, her eyes fixed on his as he watched her in utter adoration before closing them to savour the sensation of her sweet mouth engulfing him. Brienne closed her eyes hypnotized and rested her half-opened lips on her hand that was hanging helplessly from the pommel. Gods, she was _burning_ down there. What was she doing, not being with him, not riding him? She put her hand between her legs wishing he could see her, wishing she could make him come in two seconds.

_Tormund, damn you, for the love of the old gods and… and… Ah…_

But there were no gods where she was reaching, she didn’t find them there, she couldn’t find them anywhere. They were gone.

There was only her hand, and the center of her body. And Tormund, burning like a flame.

 

Afterwards she couldn’t recall if they came together, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that, even through the dizziness and the ecstasy, she could hear his final desperate groans, loud enough for her to hear, as if he was surprised at his sudden pleasure, panting as he came, ejaculating the rich hotness in his hand. Would she ever get to taste him? Or would she just stand behind closed doors for the rest of her days, stealing moments of other people’s lives?

_Tormund is yours to take. Or at least was._

She slowly went back to her and Sansa’s room, closing the door carefully behind her. She slid under the furs reassuring herself that she would forget everything come morning.


	10. Sweet dreams and baby names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne couldn't lie if her life depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness find me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/gallery/59304741/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

They all woke up before dawn. Robin Arryn refused to get out of bed, he protested a lot while Yohn Royce helped him put on his clothes and boots but then he was reminded of the lemon cakes and the blueberry tarts that would be waiting for him. It was too dark and cold as they prepared the horses. Brienne made sure they had enough provisions for their journey since they wouldn’t find many inns before they reached Hornwood. They would find the Dreadfort on their way but Sansa didn’t want to even mention it, let alone go through it.

Robin was still sleepy as Lord Royce helped him up his horse, and not before long he was asking the group to stop for breakfast.

“Hasn’t he eaten already?” Tormund asked Brienne looking over his shoulder at the young lord riding behind them.

“He has,” Brienne replied in a strict impatient tone. “Eggs and butter and two big slices of black bread; the inn keeper was woken and he prepared them especially for him. But Lord Arryn said the bread was too hard and he couldn’t chew it, so now he’s hungry again. Lucky us!...”

Tormund scoffed and turned again to face the road, reins in his hands. “I could hear his whining all night, their room was next to mine. This pup is not fit to be lord, he’s not fit to lace his own boots. I remember Royce being so aggressive and hostile against us free folk just before they pronounced Jon Snow king. And now look at him, practically breastfeeding that boy.”

“Oh gods, Tormund, now I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head,” Brienne winced and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

Tormund chuckled as he watched her try to shake that thought off. Her cheeks were surprisingly red that morning and there was… something about her. Something different.

“You look refreshed,” he said curiously. “Did you have a nice rest?”

Oh he was definitely teasing her. Brienne blinked a few times before she could form an answer.

“You look refreshed yourself!” she replied as she turned to him with veiled annoyance.

“Aye. I had beautiful dreams,” he said half-closing his eyes.

“Did you!” She cleared her throat. “Did you - did you dream of our… journey together?” she asked nervously. It was the stupidest question she could ever come up with.

“No. I dreamt of my wife. We were having babies, lots and lots of them,” he said wiggling his eyebrows.

 _“Good!”_ Brienne nodded emphatically, almost falling off her horse as she hopped nervously on the saddle.

“I can’t wait to be with her, you know. I’m thinking of baby names already,” he grinned.

“Oh I’m _sure._ Very _very_ sure.”

“How about you?” he said in an indifferent tone. “Did _you_ rest at all?”

“Oh I did, I _did_.” She was nodding like crazy.

Tormund gave her a mocking smile as he bit his lower lip eagerly. “Because I could swear I heard a woman breathing heavily outside my door in the middle of the night. A nice walk does wonders to sleeplessness, or so I hear.”

Brienne went red as a beet. She was too shocked to even think of averting her eyes, she just stared at him.

“Or maybe it wasn’t you,” Tormund continued. “Maybe it was Sansa. Does she get sleepless too strolling outside people’s doors when they’re having some time for themselves?”

“It wasn’t Lady S-!” Brienne cried. Too late. She couldn’t help herself, it was hers or Lady Sansa’s honour. Choices choices.

Tormund burst into laughter as the sun was playing with his fiery mane. He had her in the palm of his hand. Brienne sighed and closed her eyes, defeated. Tormund shook his head, still laughing.

“You’re a terrible liar, Brienne. A terrible _terrible_ liar.” He leaned towards her and by the way he was looking at her she knew, she just _knew_ he was fucking her in his mind. “Next time you catch me alone in my reveries do honour me with your presence,” he whispered in a husky voice that sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t bite. At least not until you let me.” And he gave her a generous smile.

An arrow hissed through the air and got stuck on the tree on his left scratching his cheek on its way. Brienne screamed “Get down!” and pushed him off his horse, tumbling down herself. More arrows came from nowhere hitting Sweetrobin’s foot and some of their horses. The boy squealed in pain and spurred the horse in panic causing it to gallop away. Yohn Royce followed him into the woods as Sansa ordered her own horse to stop and looked around terrified. As Brienne unsheathed her sword a group of armed men threw themselves at her and Tormund. She killed one of them and by the time she turned anxiously to see how Tormund was doing two of their attackers were already on the ground. _This beast of a man didn’t waste his time_ , she thought numbly as she blocked another attack with her sword. She pulled out the man’s knife from his belt and sliced his throat in the blink of an eye. Blood sprayed all over her face blinding her but she wiped it off with a quick angry move. Two other men were running towards her swinging swords and axes. A bald man with scars on his face had already pulled Sansa from her horse, sticking a knife in her throat and forcing her to follow him. She was screaming Brienne’s name. Brienne growled and ran towards the Stark girl, piercing one of the men on her way. And that’s when another attacker hit her shoulder with an axe and threw her on the ground. She screamed in pain but was quick enough to roll over and avoid another blow. And then his head was split in two by Tormund’s sword.  As the severed body fell on the ground with a loud thump Tormund pulled Brienne up.

“They have Sansa!” she yelled at him. “Don’t let them get away!”

But it was too late, Sansa was nowhere to be seen, only her horse was left behind.

“Now what?” Tormund groaned. “They took two of our horses and I can’t see Royce anywhere.”

Brienne panted looking desperately at all directions.

“This man. There,” she pointed at one of the men who was lying on the ground barely breathing. “He’s not dead yet.”

She kneeled by the wounded man. His breathing was laboured, Brienne had pierced his lungs. He was holding his chest that was now covered in a pool of blood.

“Tell me where they took her and I’ll give you a quick death,” she said coldly. “Keep silent and I’ll let you rot slowly.”

The man coughed blood a couple of times before he could utter a word.

“She’s at… she’s at her husband’s castle. Now… Please… I told you what you wanted to hear. I beg you…”

Brienne stood up and with steely determination she pierced him through the heart.

“Where is she?” Tormund asked.

Brienne furrowed her brows. She couldn’t believe she had just lost Lady Sansa, she couldn’t believe the poor girl was held in _that_ place.

“They took her to the Dreadfort.”


	11. Silver suns and bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounded Brienne wants to save Sansa but someone has to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness follow me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/gallery/59304741/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

“You’re bleeding,” he said hoarsely trying to catch his breath.

Brienne had never seen Tormund like that, his brows furrowed in worry, his eyes fixed on her wounded shoulder. She touched it and looked at her palm numbly; her armour was smeared with blood.

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed him as she walked towards Sansa’s horse. “We have to get to the Dreadfort where they’re keeping her before it is too late. Those men used to be Ramsay’s men, they partook in his torturing and flaying people alive. They have no love for their dead lord’s widow, the Stark who brought the Knights of the Vale upon them.”

“I’ll go,” Tormund said. “You’re not going anywhere. Not before you take care of that wound.”

“I said it’s nothing. It’s a scratch. I can ride.”

“You won’t be riding anything before tomorrow.” He paused. “Definitely not… that _horse_.” He cleared his throat and looked at her with flushed cheeks. “I’ll be a dead man before I let you ride.” He stood between her and the mount, his arms loose on each side, his fists slightly clenched, ready to grab her if he had to.

“Well that can be arranged,” she said, leveling a glare on him. She had no time for his witty remarks.

Tormund didn’t move an inch.

“Move over,” she insisted staring at him with cold blue eyes.

Tormund just stood there crossing his arms in absolute determination, burying his feet in the ground, daring to defy her.

“Do you want a fight, _Lord Karstark_? Because I’ll _give_ you a fight, I promise you that,” she said narrowing her eyes.

“Oh I’m counting on it,” Tormund nodded with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t have you any other way, you know that... But you’re wounded and I’m not. I would win this.”

“Are you threatening me?” she raised her voice grabbing the hilt of her sword. “Or are you just unreasonably confident?”

“Gods forbid,” Tormund said dryly. “But you’ll never get far with an infected wound. Do you want to save Sansa or not?”

Brienne looked at her bloody hand and sighed. She couldn’t deny that convincing people was one of his biggest talents.

One of _many_.

She let her head hang in defeat and waited but he didn’t make a move. She stood still, raised her eyebrows and blinked.

“Well?” She lifted her hands impatiently. _He’d better hurry up before I change my mind_ , she thought.

Tormund gave her a happy childlike grin and rushed to her side. However he soon found out that releasing her was no easy task.

“This is not how I imagined getting you out of this armour would be like,” he admitted furrowing his brow in frustration. “These straps are too tight,” he grunted. “I always say ‘if you cannot untie it, cut it.’ I could use my knife.”

“Not if you value your life,” she snapped at him, eyes wide open with wrath.

“You kneelers. Locking yourselves up like that when you have to fight for your lives?” he said tugging at the straps. “What good is that? You’re not fast enough, you’re not light enough. I’d never forsake my leathers and furs for this steel cage, it’s a death trap.”

Brienne smirked at his ignorance as he pulled the pauldron off her shoulder and placed it on the ground.

“Yet here you are proudly dressed in Karstark silver and white, a lord among lords. _And_ kneelers,” she scoffed looking at the intricately embroidered silver suns on his sleeves. Tormund paused to look into her eyes that were inches away from his own, their green unmistakably reminiscent of a sea swept by the storm. His hands lay still on her other pauldron; he wasn’t smiling anymore.

Had she offended him?

Oh no; she had _hurt_ him.

She knew she could be cruel but he was the one person not worthy of that cruelty.

“I’m… sorry,” she muttered lowering her eyes. “I was totally out of line...”

Tormund untied the last strap, removed the pauldron and went on to unfasten the chestplate buckles, his gaze never leaving her face. When he finally decided to speak, his voice was nothing but a harsh whisper.

“Your not saying a word of protest at my wedding was out of line. Your palpable desire when you rode me like a stallion in the middle of the night and left me there to figure out what the hell had just happened to me was out of line. This…” he jabbed his finger at the embroidered suns on his sleeve. “This is _nothing,_ ” he spat.

She wished she had never teased him for choosing to be a lord, a kneeler. He could never be a kneeler like the rest of them, couldn’t he see that? Her insults were empty, she was being a child. But it was too late now, he just refused to look her in the eye.

He removed her chestplate and her gambeson as they both stood in awkward silence. Her tunic had a huge dark stain where the axe had hit her. The moment he saw her damaged shoulder he narrowed his eyes as if it was his wound, his pain.

His blood.

“Sit down,” he said softly. “I don’t want to get your clothes wet, and it’s going to be a cold night.” The storm in his eyes was gone.

As he pulled the tunic out of her trousers and over her shoulders she was quick to curl her arms around her breasts, her sarcasm and regret giving way to modesty. The wound was still bleeding but it wasn’t too deep. He washed it clean with a piece of cloth soaked in water that he poured from his leather flask and tore strips off Sansa’s smallclothes to make bandages that he pressed hard on the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Hold that right there,” he said and got up as he pulled out his knife. He approached the nearest tree and cut off a large piece of moss from the trunk. Watching him from a distance she wasn’t sure she agreed to his methods of wound caring. When he finished he kneeled next to her, put the moss on her hurt shoulder and placed her hand on top of it. As he wrapped the bandage around her shoulder and naked torso he brushed the side of her breast making her shiver. Soon she was squirming, wishing he wouldn’t touch her skin more than necessary, practically avoiding his eyes and covering her breasts with one hand. He stopped and that made her look up. She was still clenching her bosom as if it was the most valuable treasure in the world, humanity’s biggest, darkest secret. Tormund sat on his heels and gave a little sigh as his gaze rested upon her covered teats.

“What you’re doing… it’s not working,” he laughed as he shook his head. “You’re trying so hard to hide them from me but you know… You’re turning me on even more by hiding them, squeezing them in front of me like that.”

Brienne let out a little gasp.

“I can-“ He bit his lip and smiled.

“I can even imagine how it feels in your palm right now, girl. How hard your…” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off her chest.

He looked down and took a deep breath. When he looked back at her his eyes were burning with desire. “I don’t dare think of you lying in your bed touching them, teasing them, or I’ll get so hard I’ll never finish with those bandages and you’ll probably bleed to death. I thought you should know.”

She just sat speechless staring at him, utterly entranced, unable to protest or even blink. Now was the time. She would either open her arms to offer him those breasts he longed for and fuck the life out of him or she would remain silent forever.

He shut his eyes as if he was trying to get rid of the tantalizing thought of her pleasuring herself.

“Enough of that,” he said clearing his throat as he secured the bandage. “I’ll get us something to eat. And then you’ll rest, you’ll need all your strength tomorrow.”

He got up, gave her the tunic and the gambeson and walked towards Sansa’s horse to look for food. Brienne remained seated on the ground with her arms still wrapped around her until she realized she was freezing. She put her clothes on as fast as she could.

“Seven hells…” she whispered and closed her eyes, hoping Tormund was too busy preparing dinner to see how flustered she was.


	12. Dreadfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is full of tough choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For more Briemund madness follow me on tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
>  [My Briemund art](http://elenatria.deviantart.com/gallery/59304741/)   
>  [My Briemund fan vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF25RIoWMDI/)

Dawn found them riding together on Sansa’s mount through the misty forest that surrounded the Dreadfort. Brienne was leading the horse while Tormund sat behind her making sure he wasn’t holding on to her too tight. Her shoulder was feeling better; the moss, the dinner he had prepared for her the night before and the few hours she had managed to sleep had worked miracles. Still she couldn’t wear her armour. It would be too heavy on her healing wound and since they would have to sneak in and out of the castle as fast as they could she knew it would make her presence known to the guards as well as slow her down.

As they rode the fog got thinner. The few times she turned back to answer Tormund’s questions he would see in her eyes the cold determination, the unstoppable force that was compelling her to ride on despite her pain. He didn’t know how long they had been moving in absolute silence but every now and then he would smile at the thought of her finally listening to his advice about the armour even if she said she was just doing it for her shoulder.

“How do we get in?” he asked as the Dreadfort appeared ominously on top of the hill across the river.

“There’s a tunnel that leads to the main tower,” Brienne replied. “Theon Greyjoy told me about it when I rescued him and Lady Sansa from the Bolton men. Poor lad, he was just sitting there, shaking in the snow, devastated by everything that befell Lady Sansa although he didn’t dare speak of it. He kept muttering it was his fault. He didn’t trust anyone to keep her safe, not even me,” she whispered as if talking to herself. “I guess he was right… That’s why he told me about the tunnel, in case Ramsay sent more men after us. In case… they took her to her husband’s castle. Where no one would blink an eye if the Stark heiress was tortured and killed. Where the north had forgotten.”

Brienne was lost in her thoughts. There it was again, the forbidding shadow of failure. She had failed to protect Renly and Lady Catelyn, and this was the second time Lady Sansa had slipped through her fingers. If she failed Catelyn’s daughter again…

“I think we should stop here,” Tormund interrupted her morbid thoughts. “We’d better continue on foot.”

They dismounted. She hid her armour by the Weeping Water among the reeds while Tormund tied the horse to a tree and pulled out his dagger. He slashed the air a few times before flipping the handle towards Brienne. He reached out to her but she just blinked.

“What am I to do with it?” Her eyes still reflected the agonizing fear for Sansa’s fate.

“In case we’re separated you’ll be the one having to slice more throats than me until you reach Sansa. It is no match for your impressive steel but in close quarters it’s quicker. Take it,” he urged her.

Brienne took it hesitantly. The sword had always been her weapon of choice but she had never broken into a castle before. Maybe a dagger was indeed more appropriate.

Suddenly she felt the need to thank him for being there, just… _being_ there. _Thank you._ How difficult could that be. Two words, two simple words, and they meant the world to both of them.

But those were not the two words that came out of her mouth.

“Let’s go,” she said finally tucking the dagger in her belt as she hurried away.

 _“…You’re welcome,”_ Tormund murmured but only the trees and the birds were there to listen.

 

The thick humid atmosphere that surrounded the castle was soon replaced by the light drizzle that soaked their clothes. Brienne pushed back her wet hair as she moved fast towards the tunnel gate. It had no chain or lock, things seemed to be easy so far but Tormund was wary. He walked close behind her making sure no one saw them or followed them. Their footsteps echoed in the half lit tunnel as they trod on the muddy ground. The long passage led to an underground hall that was illuminated by a single torch revealing a stairway.

“There are no guards here,” Brienne whispered.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe no one knows about this tunnel, Theon Greyjoy said it was unguarded when Ramsay brought him here. Maybe they don’t expect outsiders to know of it…”

“…Or maybe it’s a trap.” Tormund glanced at her with only the slightest hint of nervousness. “We wouldn’t find a flaming torch here if they weren’t somewhere close.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No. But if I am to be butchered I’d rather die out in the open. Under the sun and the stars, not like a mouse in a hole.”

“Do not fret,” Brienne replied with an impatient sigh. “I promise to drag you outside before you close your eyes forever and to offer your dead body to the sun, the stars - _and_ the crows. That’s a fitting demise for the fearless leader of the free folk, don’t you think?” she smirked.

Tormund could be very irascible when mocked, instead he just nodded with a cheerful look on his face as if she had just told him she was pregnant with his twins.

“Aye, this is how a man ends,” he grinned back at her and put his hands on his hips. “I pity the man who will not have the pleasure of dying in your arms. Although I’d settle for a _little death_ in your embrace before my days are over _,_ make no mistake.”

 _There will be no blushing,_ she thought to herself. _This is not the time to blush._

Yet there it was, a tint of telltale pink on her wet cheeks. She was quick to shush him but that did nothing to put away her smile as she took the torch from the wall and made for the stairway.

As they crept up the stairs and reached an archway they saw the flickering light of a torch casting the long shadow of an unseen man at the other end of the corridor. Brienne put down the torch slowly, took out Tormund’s dagger and moved silently towards the guard. She sneaked up behind him, grabbed his hair and slit his throat before he had the chance to reach for his sword. The guard fell on the floor with a gurgling sound while thick blood spurted out of his throat, nostrils and mouth, and Tormund quickly dragged his body back to hide him in a dark corner. But it was too late, they heard voices from the other end of the long corridor and frantic footsteps coming down the stairs.

“We’re not going back,” Brienne panted as she wiped the dagger on her sleeve and tucked it back in her belt. “We’ll go through them.”

She unsheathed her sword; there it was again, the cold determination, the irrational stubbornness. Only this time things would be different, this time logic would prevail.

“I’ll stall them,” Tormund said pulling out his blade. “You go find Sansa.”

Brienne took a quick glance at him. “This is madness,” she said disdainfully with only a hint of worry in her voice. “I’m not leaving you.”

“If you stay they’ll kill us both, there’s too many of them.”

“All the more reason to stay and fight with you!”

Tormund didn’t have time for her obstinacy, a lesson needed to be learned; he grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulled her head close to his and stared into her eyes.

She could just punch him in the face. Really, punching him was nothing, it was just a reflex. Instead she just stared back in utter shock.

“When you’re fighting with me you best learn to take _orders_ ,” he hissed. “Obey me and stay true to your oath or stay here and die.”

Brienne nodded. His eyes and voice were compelling her to trust his judgment no matter how strongly she disagreed. There was no time, she had to take a swift decision as Tormund threw himself at the garrison with the strength of a raging bear. But no matter what he said, today was not the day she would turn her back on him; with a frightful cry she attacked two of the guards shoving her sword into their bellies, reducing them to screaming bags of blood and entrails. She tried to leave but her work there wasn’t done; the biggest of them all, a massive bearded man with a horribly pocked face and a height to match hers, struck down on her but she stood her ground with all her might, the clanging of Oathkeeper echoing in the halls.

“Go, damn you!” Tormund barked furiously behind them. He thrust his sword into the bearded man’s back and brought him to his knees before stabbing him in the back of his neck with an angry grunt.

Brienne raced towards the staircase, sword in hand, giving Tormund one last look before she disappeared. As she rushed up the stairs she could still hear him roaring like a madman as he tore through flesh, as he smashed bones like they were twigs. Maybe there were four or five of those men still standing and fighting when she reached the upper floor. As she looked around she prayed Tormund would overpower them and join her as fast as he could.

She prayed, and she prayed hard.

Unsure as to where she should start her search for Lady Sansa she slowed down and listened carefully. She knew there would be more guards approaching who had been alerted by the commotion.

Her fears were justified.

The sound of footsteps made her turn. As the tall burly figure walked out of the shadows holding his blade she just stood there staring at him, petrified.

“Lord Royce!”

The grey-haired Lord of Runestone seemed to be just as stupefied as she was, exhaling sharply as his grip on his sword tightened.

“Lady Brienne!” he exclaimed taking deep breaths. “Thank the Seven you’re here!”

“Where is Lady Sansa? Do you know where they’re keeping her?”

“She’s with Little Lord Robin but we must hurry!”

He sheathed his sword as he led Brienne through archways and dark halls. Brienne was relieved Lord Royce had survived the attack, there was still hope they would save Sansa.

“How did you know they were keeping them here?” she inquired. “We lost you after they attacked us in the forest.”

“As soon as they shot him with that arrow I chased him down but they had already taken him,” he said regretfully. “I remained hidden and followed them here.”

“How did you get in? You must tell me everything you know about this place if we are to make for a quick escape.”

“There’s an unguarded gate in the west, fortunately for us they don’t have enough manpower to guard all the entries. They’re renegades you see, the few men who stayed loyal to Ramsay Bolton even after his death, and now they’re thirsty for revenge, or ransom. I hope we won’t have the chance to find out which.”

“Is Lady Sansa alright?” Brienne asked furrowing her brows.

“I don’t know. All I saw was two guards outside a door, it must be where they’re keeping them. We can take them down together now that you’re here. The gods are good.”

The plan worked perfectly. A loud clang rang out in the hall and as one of the guards left his post to find the source of the noise he turned around the corner only to get ambushed by Yohn Royce. The other guard didn’t move from outside the door but the sounds of fighting distracted him enough for Brienne to sneak up on him and stab him in the back. She searched the dead body for the keys while Royce made sure both guards were dead. Her hands were shaking with adrenaline as she turned the key and pushed the heavy door. The sickly dim light revealed a constricted room with almost no furniture. 

And there on the bed, bundled up like animals in a cage, sat Sansa with Robin in her arms. He was breathing heavily and he was paler than ever, a deathly shadow under his eyes and little beads of sweat covering his forehead.

“Lady Sansa, thank the gods!”

Sansa, who was in a state of shock, looked up with a feverish look in her eyes. She seemed as if she hadn’t slept for days, hardly recognizing Brienne, unable to even utter her sworn sword’s name.

“He’s… he’s dying,” was the only response she could muster.

As Brienne examined the boy’s wounded leg Sansa kept clutching him for fear that death might take him if she let go. The wound was red and swollen, full of pus, and gave out a horrible smell.

“It’s poison,” Brienne concluded morbidly. “They shot him with a poisoned arrow. They-“

Sansa screamed but it was too late.

A blow on the back of Brienne’s head was enough.

She collapsed on the floor.

And everything went black.

 


	13. Captives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund and Brienne are finally reunited, however there's one little thing that's keeping them apart: iron bars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My woman?](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/post/156779569978/you-understand-me/)  
>  *Next chapter things are bound to get sexier, these two last action-packed chapters were a bitch to write, I want to have some fun dammit TT__TT*

The first thing that came back was the pain.

Sharp.

Back of the head.

_Not dead._

She endured, she always endured, it was her special gift. As a woman she had a higher pain threshold than men, a fact that was always overlooked, one more reason for people to underestimate her. Pain was her signature, her badge of honour, taking more and more until her opponents were too tired to fight back. Then she’d strike. And she would win.

There was the other pain as well, the kind that would wake her up in the middle of the night. A bad dream or a sweet memory, something she used to have, something she had lost, it didn’t matter. If no one was around she would sometimes allow herself to cry. Getting used to that pain did nothing to steel her though, it would always be there, lying dormant, biding its time. One day the heartbreak would be too much to bear. And she would lose.

She tried to lift her arm and reach back but it felt numb and limp, helplessly trapped underneath her heavily breathing torso. Still she could feel the wetness of blood on her skull and the cold hard floor under her beaten cheek.

The second thing that flashed into her mind was the pale frightened face, the desperate scream. She didn’t know how she had ended up on the floor, all she knew was she had to get up to find the auburn haired girl and she had to do it _now_. She struggled to push herself up but her limbs wouldn’t obey, she just lied on the wet stones face down, paralyzed.

As the seconds passed she was overcome with a vague feeling of worry. The wildling filled her hazy thoughts, the ginger wild man in expensive silver and black garments. He reminded her of an untamed lion with a fiery dusty mane that wore a diamond studded collar and a thick golden chain around his neck, pretending to be someone’s pet, pretending to like it. She would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.

_Was he even alive?_

The last thing she remembered was her name; that was it, the missing piece of the puzzle.

_Brienne. Get up._

_Get. Up._

She forced herself up with a pained groan and traced the back of her head.

_Bones. Not broken. Good. It’s all good._

If it had been a serious injury she wouldn’t be able to move so things couldn’t be that bad. She looked around her.

The thick humid air. The darkness. The bars.

She was in the dungeons alright.

As she felt around in the cell trying to figure out how big it was she heard the racket of men coming down the stairs and dragging something heavy with them, some laughing, others cursing. They pulled and yelled and kicked and spat at their load until they brought the man in front of her and dropped him on the floor. She heard keys jangling and as she tried to shake off the throbbing pain that was dulling her senses she froze where she stood. The bloody heap was _him_ ; the untamed beast. They had him.

The bald man with the scarred face who had kidnapped Sansa opened the cell door opposite Brienne’s and Tormund howled in pain as a younger man with dirty hay-like hair kicked him in the stomach. Brienne clenched her fists around the bars of her cell.

“Watch it, Finbarre,” one of the others warned him. “We don’t want to wear him down, they will want to get their hands on him first.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Finbarre laughed as he watched Tormund trying to lift himself up, blood dripping out of his mouth. He turned to face Brienne. “What about the bitch, what shall we do with her?”

“We can’t just kill her, not yet anyway, his lordship told me she’s nobility,” the bald man said. “She may have stacks of gold hidden away just for us or a whole army waiting upon her, what do I know. Better be careful with that one.”

Finbarre snorted loudly as he examined her.

“She looks as ugly as all Seven Hells one laid upon the other but I wouldn’t mind having a go at her, even with the blood smearing her ugly mug. Wouldn’t mind at all. She can take a beating, might even like it rough if you know what I mean.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “You whore, you like it rough, don’t you. I can tell.”

“I reckoned you liked them frail redheaded ones,” said a gaunt man with a thick black goatee.

“Nay, not that one. The Stark harlot is a gift or so you said, right Emeric?”

“That she is,” the bald man nodded. “And definitely not for the likes of you, you lazy bugger! Now help me lock up this goat fucker before his lordship comes.”

The four men dragged Tormund into his cell. As he tried one last time to get up Finbarre gave him a farewell kick in the head and left him bleeding on the floor. After their work was done they made for the stairway, their chatter echoing in the dungeons.

Brienne heard Tormund wheezing and coughing out blood. It was very dark but she could still see how beaten up he was, bleeding from the nose and from a big cut in the forehead, wiping his split lip with his silver embroidered sleeve. His expensive clothes were now torn and dirty and his handsome face bruised. For all the beating he had taken he didn’t pass out, they wanted him in good shape whoever _they_ were.

“Tormund…” Brienne whispered. “Tormund! Talk to me. Are you alright?”

Tormund finally managed to sit up. He snorted and spat out blood.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she suggested channeling her inner nurse. “Let it heal.”

“Yes yes _yessss_ …” he nodded as he wiped his bloody hands on his trousers. “I see they caught you too.”

“I found Lady Sansa and little Lord Arryn… He’s not well, he got shot with a poisoned arrow. I got hit in the head as I was examining his wound. So stupid…”

Tormund furrowed his brow in worry.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes…” she nodded touching the back of her head.

“Thank the gods,” he sighed with relief and leaned back on the wall before giving her a mischievous smile. “I always knew that thick head of yours was good for something.”

“This is no laughing matter!...” She let her head hang helplessly trying to conceal her own smile. He always had that effect on her. “How can you laugh?”

“Hush!” he whispered and sprung to his feet as two men were heard coming down the stairs, talking.

Brienne stood up as well.

“I’ll believe it when I see them with my own eyes,” the first man said and looked towards the cells were Brienne and Tormund were held.

Tormund had heard that voice before; he was sure it was in the Great Hall of Winterfell. So many men there, so many… _northern lords_.

“Ever since Theon Greyjoy burned those orphans and passed them as the Stark boys we’ve grown wary,” the man continued. “Lord Baelish told me I should make sure they’re dead before I go back to Deepwood Motte, the King in the North must never know of this.”

The other man scoffed as he lifted a torch and his face was lit up. Brienne’s suspicions were confirmed; it was Lord Yohn Royce.

“Lord Glover,” he said. “You of all people calling him the King in the North... The irony.”

“He _is_ my king,” Glover insisted. “That doesn’t mean I have to accept all his follies and put up with his wildings, the savages that raided our lands for years and years. What does Jon Snow know of raiding and pillaging? He’s just a boy who lived all his life protected behind the walls of Winterfell whereas we fought those bastards for as long as I can remember. Crossing the Bay of Ice to reach us was nothing to them, did you know that? And now Jon Snow married their leader to the Karhold heir. Next thing I know he’ll order me to give my Erena to some filthy wildling animal as soon as she comes of age.”

Yohn Royce shook his head.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” he admitted.

“You have qualms?” Glover chuckled incredulously. “You’re the one who sent me that message from the inn where you spent the night. Don’t back down now.”

“I had to inform Lord Baelish as well as you and the other lords of our whereabouts – _and_ of the fact that the wildling had followed us. Not even Lord Baelish had anticipated that, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You acted wisely, my friend,” Glover reassured him. “There’s no love lost between you and the wildlings either, I heard what you said in the Great Hall.”

“I’m not doing this for the damnable wildlings,” Royce snapped exasperated. “ _They_ can hang the wildling leader for all I care. You know as well as I do that I had no choice, I had to deliver Sansa to Lord Baelish’s men if Robin’s life was to be spared. Before her untimely death his mother entrusted this boy’s life in my hands and Baelish was clear: it was Robin’s life or Sansa’s. I made my choice, my conscience is clear.”

“Lord Baelish is good at blackmailing, you should know that by now,” Glover said. “He’s also good at being in the queen’s good graces. He has many talents, this man. If queen Cersei ever doubted Littefinger’s loyalty to her, having Sansa sent back to King’s Landing will be the biggest gift she could ever receive. Sansa is still accused of king Joffrey’s death as you know.”

“I know, I know…” Royce nodded but now he looked doubtful. He glanced towards Brienne’s cell with a twinge of guilt. “I just… When Lord Baelish told me of his plan back in Karhold I thought one life was enough to keep Robin safe. Now I don’t even know if he’ll survive, someone shot him with a poisoned arrow but no one speaks a word. What I’m saying is… Lady Brienne is innocent, she has nothing to do with all this.”

“You wouldn’t want any witnesses spilling the beans to Jon Snow, would you? Come, Lord Royce, it’s time to rest,” Glover patted Royce’s shoulder. “After all you won’t be the one doing the hanging tomorrow. _They_ ’ll be here at dawn, let them deal with those two. And don’t worry about Lord Arryn, I’ll have my maester here before noon, I’ve sent out a raven already.”

Yohn Royce gave one last glance towards Brienne. He looked pale and  tired.

“It’s so dark in here… So dark…” he breathed before placing the torch on the wall. One last act of kindness.

The two lords walked out of the dungeons leaving the captives alone. Brienne, who had been holding her breath all this time, turned to Tormund. She could see him at last. The torch was casting light on his sullen face as he leaned his forehead on the bars, his hands clasping them with silent rage.

“They talked about people coming here tomorrow. Who did they mean?” She was trying to control her voice and the shivering that was slowly taking over her body.

“I don’t know, Brienne, I don’t know...” he sighed.

When he spoke again his changed voice chilled her to the bone. “All I know is we’ll be dead tomorrow.”


	14. Confession time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get intimate. Hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> ["My woman?"](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/post/156779569978/you-understand-me)  
> 

They sat in silence for several minutes that felt like hours. Silent, slow, torturous minutes. They hardly noticed the guard coming down to make sure they were secured in their cells as the horrendous revelations of Lord Glover and Lord Royce were sinking in. They just sat on the floor with the narrow corridor and the bars separating them, barely feeling the cold stones underneath them as their sore bodies grew numb. The shadows cast on their solemn faces by that single torch made them look weaker as time passed.

“So that was Littlefinger’s plan all along…” Brienne muttered unable to take her eyes off her nervous fidgeting hands on her knees. “He didn’t want to marry her off, he didn’t want to protect her by sending her to the Eyrie; he meant to deliver her to Cersei. But of course, why would he not, Sansa is not a valuable asset to him anymore. He brought the Knights of the Vale to her brother’s aid and I guess he was expecting something in return. Probably the north itself, who knows, he’s Littlefinger after all. Sansa told me he made her a proposition but she never let me in on the details, and now that the north is no longer a prospect he set his sights on King’s Landing. ”

Tormund’s face twitched with hate, his eyes fixed on the floor. “…And that old fart Royce, the honourable Knight of the Vale, selling off Sansa to save the little runt,” he said bitterly. “Who knows if the boy will even survive the night.”

Brienne turned.

“That little runt is his _lord_ and Royce has sworn to protect him as I have sworn to protect Sansa,” she said stiffly. “His vow is as sacred as mine.”

Tormund lowered his forehead as he glared through the bars.

“Tell me that runt’s life, or even Sansa’s, is worth more than yours,” he growled. “Say that to my face.”

Brienne’s lip trembled, she wasn’t expecting this attack.

“I’ve taken an oath, I’ve-“

“To hell with your oaths, to hell with everything!” he snapped. “Tell me their lives are worth more than yours. SAY IT.”

His voice echoed in the dungeon, thunderous and vibrant like a bell. A loud outburst like that would normally make the guards come back and beat them to silence but no one seemed to bother. There was no breaking out of those cells, they were in the Dreadfort, and evidently Tormund’s rage wasn’t enough to bring down those walls.

Brienne stood up, mad with fury.

“It is my duty to protect Sansa and this is what I’m here for. If I am to die protecting her so be it, at least I’ll die knowing I did everything in my power.” She was almost shaking with rage. “You have no say in it, no say whatsoever.”

Tormund didn’t make a single move to get up, he just sat there, arm on his bent knee.

“I never said you shouldn’t do what you were meant to do,” he said resigned. “All I said was you shouldn’t justify everyone else’s actions even if their intentions are noble, not when _your_ life is at stake.”

His tone had grown softer now. “There comes a moment in life when you have to decide for yourself. You’re not a pawn in anybody’s game, Brienne, and you’re nobody’s shadow. You’re _you_. Your life is worth as much as the lives of those you swore to protect. I’m just mad those fuckers convinced you they were more important than you.”

Brienne felt uncomfortable. For the first time she was listening, and she was listening to _him_. He knew so little about her, how could he possibly give her advice on how she should live her life and which way she would choose to end it?

_End it._

And then it dawned on her; she was choosing suicide all these years, she was choosing death. That thought scared her to the core.

Tormund rested his weary head on his hand digging his fingers in his hair. “You can follow these lords and ladies all you like but there comes a time when you must say enough is enough, a time when one living day of yours is worth more than ten living years of theirs. I followed Jon Snow into battle, I did, with all my heart. But when the Bolton army was closing in on us I said fuck it, I’m not going to waste my life for a lost cause so I ordered my men to retreat. I swear I would have fled if it wasn’t for that cunt intercepting me, what’s his name, Smallpecker… Smallsomething… _Umber_ , that’s it.”

“Smalljon Umber, yes. The one whose throat you chewed off?”

“The same,” he nodded.

 “I’ve heard stories, didn’t know they were true.”

Tormund smirked, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Always believe the stories about me, always. When they’re told by anyone else but me you know they’re true.” And there he was, the good old Tormund who could laugh even when his life was hanging by a thread. “They call me a Tall-talker with good reason.”

Brienne remembered how beautiful it was to hear him laugh, to see his handsome face beam like the sun. She felt a pang of remorse observing the caked blood on his forehead and his bruised cheekbones, realizing that very moment she wouldn’t see that face again. But it was all his fault, wasn’t it? He had followed them here, Jon Snow’s orders or not. It was his decision.

“You said my life is worth more than the lives of the lords I serve but here you are, serving these lords yourself,” she said gloomily. “What’s your excuse, why are _you_ here?”

“Because _I LOVE YOU!_ ” he barked furiously, his hoarse voice resonating in the empty dark cells around them.

Brienne froze in shock.

_So that’s what it felt like._

It wasn’t fair. All her life she yearned to hear those words, to have someone say them and mean them. And now that her wish had finally come true it was at her darkest hour. She couldn’t act on those words, she couldn’t reach out to the man saying them so freely, so effortlessly, she could barely discern his eyes in the dark. Maybe that was a good thing because he would see how scared she was, and Brienne had never been so terrified in her life.

“I’m sorry, Tormund…” she breathed helplessly.

“For what?”

“You were not supposed to be locked up with me. I’m the one who brought you here.” Her voice echoed the deepest despair.

Tormund looked surprised, as if an apology was the last thing he expected to hear from her.

“ _You_ didn’t bring me here. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth and you know it.”

“For all the good it did you…”

Tormund leaned back on the wall never taking his eyes off of her.

“If I am to die at least I’ll die by your side,” he said simply. “There are worse ways to go. And we’ll give them a good fight you and I, won’t we?”

“You weren’t supposed to die, Tormund,” Brienne protested. “You were supposed to live. You were supposed to…To put those baby names of yours in good use.”

“What baby names?”

“The ones you told me about when we left the inn. Names for the babies you’d have with your wife.”

“Ah, the babies...” Tormund chuckled at the memory. When he looked at her again she could clearly see the green of his eyes that felt as soft as newborn grass and shone like the rarest gem. “But it wasn’t her I was thinking about, Brienne.” His words sounded as if they had been long prepared. “She’s my wife but she’s not my _woman_. There’s only one person I was hoping to end my days with and she’s right here. So in a way I got my wish.”

Brienne was at a loss for words. Him telling her now how he felt, now that they had no hope of getting out of there alive, was like getting a garland of blue roses on her grave.

 “You… you could have said no,” she frowned.

“To what?”

“To marrying Lady Karstark,” she dared say as she lifted her head; she was finally able to look him in the eye. She knew right there and then that admitting what hurt her the most was admitting defeat. “You made a choice.”

Tormund looked confounded. “And then you would have said yes?” he replied. His bitter sarcastic smile didn’t make things better. “Would you have me then?”

Brienne was furious. “This is not about me.”

Tormund sighed and shook his head. “Of course… Well let me explain how things were. I didn’t know what this ‘marriage’ thing was, I hadn’t the foggiest idea. It’s a kneeler madness, it is. Beyond the Wall we never got ‘married’, we just took our women to live with us, we fucked, we had children, that’s all. Ever since we crossed the Wall things got too complicated. Jon Snow talked about alliances and giving me lands and making me the head of a great northern house so that there would be no more hostility towards my people from the other lords. No one would dare lay a finger on the Karstark heir or his people, that’s what he said. But ‘marriage’ meant I had to be with a woman I didn’t know, a woman I didn’t… love.”

He gave her the same wounded look he had given her on his wedding night as she was walking up the stairs towards Sansa’s room, when they were both feeling like the two loneliest people in the world. “When he explained it all to me I wanted to piss off, I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But you were so cold, so remote. I was hoping you’d give me a sign, you would object with all your heart and soul. I was wrong.”

 He took a deep breath and looked away. He was almost talking to himself by now.

“I should have known, you’re unlike any other woman or man I’ve ever met. You’re unpredictable as a storm, stubborn as a mule and sturdy as a rock. I took a risk and I lost. That should have taught me a lesson but I decided to take one last risk following you on your journey, and here I am. It’s the one risk I don’t regret.”

For all his disheartenment his smile was still warm.

“You always take full responsibility even when you shouldn’t,” Brienne murmured.

“Well someone has to. It’s what I always do when I’m faced with stubborn children,” he teased her and shrugged.

He looked regretful now, as if them being captives was his fault entirely.

“I always thought I’d tell you all this after having spent a wild night with you,” he admitted. “Or… I don’t know, after having spent years and years fighting together or during one long evening trying desperately to put our baby to sleep. Now none of that will happen; I don’t think I’ll even get the chance to hold you tomorrow before they put a noose around our necks.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“My mind must be in the darkest pit right now…” he muttered as he rubbed his forehead. “It’s giving me beautiful dreams instead of focusing on our imminent deaths. Gods, I should be planning out our escape and all I can think of is that I don’t even know what your teats look like, can you imagine...” he chuckled.

For a moment Brienne looked thoughtful. She knew there was no escape, and the next time they would see the light of day would be their last.

With confident moves she tugged the cord at her neck.

 “That can be fixed,” she replied.

Tormund opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked nervously sitting up.

 “I’m trying something,” she said in a nonchalant tone.

 “Stop,” Tormund breathed as he looked around licking his dry lips. “The guards will barge in, I’m sure they can smell teats from a mile away. You-you don’t want to provoke them, Brienne, don’t do this.”

“The guards didn’t barge in when you shouted your lungs out, I don’t see how my silent unlacing can provoke them,” she quipped loosening the laces of her gambeson. “As long as you manage to keep relatively quiet...” Her smile was pure lust and mischief.

She went back to unfastening the cords.

“Please, don’t…”

Brienne raised her brow. “Do you want me to stop? Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“This is not a game, woman,” he gulped trying not to panic.

“…or do you want me to touch myself over my clothes? They won’t see anything. Will that make you feel safer?” she said ignoring his plea.

Tormund gasped in shock. Her boldness left him speechless, her words had spoken directly to his heart – and to his cock. There was nothing he could do but stare in amazement, his fists clenching and unclenching the bars in fearful anticipation.

Brienne broke into a satisfied smile and slouched against the wall. She shut her eyes and let out a long meaningful sigh as she leisurely opened her legs. Her hand climbed up her gambeson and started fondling her breast. It felt _so_ good, so damn good, and the fact that he was watching but couldn’t touch her excited her even more. She bit her lip and dropped her head on the side giving him a clear view of her lustful expressions. Her other hand slid between her thighs, traced her sweet spot over her trousers and slowly rubbed it making her wet.

_“Ah…”_

She moaned and gasped lasciviously as she licked her lips, pressing and squeezing her covered breasts until Tormund couldn’t take it any longer.

 “Shit, Brienne… Are you going to lead me on and leave me out in the cold like the last time you were on top of me?” he grunted squeezing the iron bars as if he was trying to bend them. “You’re on top of me now, girl, you just don’t realize it.”

“I’m not leading you on…” she cooed unlacing her gambeson down to her stomach. She knew she had his attention now.

“Oh no, you won’t trick me, not this time. I’m not even looking.”

But he was. He was eating her up with hungry eyes. He couldn’t look away from her playful hands, their subtle repetitive movement, her fingers teasing her sensitive skin, making her moan with pleasure and longing. She had never looked more beautiful or more desirable, and he was getting harder with each passing moment. It shouldn’t be her hands making her moan. It should be him.

Brienne was relentless. She pulled the gambeson and the tunic over her shoulders exposing her freckled bosom for him to see. Her breasts were white as milk and the nipples were already hard, inviting, perkier than he had pictured in his wildest, wettest dreams. He let out an impatient sigh as his hand moved down his torso without a second thought.

“You don’t have to look if you don’t want to,” Brienne said softly. “But you _will_ listen. You will listen to every little sound I make as I pleasure myself, every hitched breath, every desperate sigh. You will hear the wet sound of my lips as I fuck myself with my fingers, you will hear my moaning as I form circles around my bud and make myself come in front of you. You have nowhere to go so you _will_ listen. You said you heard me outside your door that night at the inn. Would you like me to tell you what it was like to feel the burning between my legs as I overheard you playing with your cock, what it was like to push my fingers inside me imagining it was your huge manhood ravishing me again and again?”

Tormund was unable to form a proper sentence. He was leaning back against the wall, his hand already massaging his crotch. All he could do was moan at every naughty phrase, at every luscious sound coming out of her lips. His fingers were moving up and down his hard on that was suffocating in his pants, rubbing his eager tip in an effort to soothe the delightful itch; his eyes were trying hard to stay open while he listened to her dirty tantalizing whispers.

But she wouldn’t let him get off lightly.

At least not before she got him off for real.

Brienne stood on her knees and leaned against the bars, her small breasts pressing against them. She started caressing and twisting her nipples with both hands while letting out little excited sighs with every delicious pinch. She licked her fingers slowly just to smear her nipples and make them all slick, and that made her gasp for air and crouch in a spasm of delight. Tormund was already trying to dig his hand in his trousers, his leather belt not letting him go any further, not by a single inch, and his thumb, having nowhere else to go, helplessly twitching on his stomach. He wouldn’t untie his belt though, he wouldn’t let go; that belt was keeping him safe. He would just watch, nothing more.

Brienne stopped touching herself, sat on her knees and pushed back her hair. Tormund opened and closed his mouth twice before he could muster a reply.

“Please…” he breathed.

“You’re not playing fair, _Lord Karstark_. I want to _see_ you. I want to see your cock, that huge cock you’re so famous for, see what all the fuss is about. I squeezed it between my thighs that night on the yard while we were sparring when we should be fucking. I felt it. Now show me how big it is. Show me I was right.”

She was driving him insane with her words, words that made him so flustered and impatient that under any other circumstances he would push her over the first table he could find and shove it in her violently without a warning, violating her, making her scream.

With a defeated look he untied his belt and buried his large hand in his pants to pull out his throbbing erection.

Brienne gave a triumphant grin. “Not just a rumour after all.”

“Not everything you know about me is exaggerated,” Tormund smirked as he started stroking his member with a hypnotizing rhythm.

“Indeed… One day you’ll have to tell me about that bear,” she joked and resumed making love to her breasts with one hand while she pushed the other between her legs.

Tormund tried to laugh as he glanced at her through his half-closed eyes but all that came out of his mouth was a deep blissful breath. His hand was now moving quicker up and down his shaft but that perfect sensation didn’t distract his eyes from her delectable nudity.

Brienne licked her lips, she was enjoying this too much, the power she had over him without even touching him. All this time he had teased her fiercely, endlessly. Now it was her turn; and she would make him pay.

“I want to see you touch your balls, Tormund,” she heard herself say, shocked by her own audacity. Saying his name like that turned her on even more. “Cup them gently for me. Imagine that’s my mouth feasting upon them, taking them all in. Imagine that’s my tongue licking you until you explode, until you come in my face. That’s it… That’s perfect. Now rub your cock, slowly. I want to be able to see its tip, I want to have a clear view when your hot seed spurts out of your fingers. Yes. Go on… Give me a good reason to continue, Lord Karstark.”

Tormund, unable to resist her, gave out a frustrated growl.

“I swear it to the bloody gods, Brienne…” he exhaled sharply as he played with his balls. “If we ever get out of this cell the first thing I’m going to do is fuck you senseless. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“Mmmmm you’re quite the tall-talker, aren’t you…” she sighed rubbing her clitoris with delight. “You’d better keep that promise, tall-talker.”

“Oh I will… I _will_.”

He was dead serious.

“What would you do to me if we got out of here?” she teased. “Tell me. I want you to go into such detail that it will feel like I’m having you inside me.”

He tightened his grip on his shaft and moved faster. “The things I want to do to you, there are no names for them.”

Brienne bit her lip in ecstasy as she pushed her hand deeper in her trousers, finding her way into her wet burning folds, squeezing her legs together.

“When I get my hands on you, you won’t get up off the floor for the days and nights to come. Oh gods. Oh gods, Brienne… Oh.”

He was getting there, he was coming. He shifted his pelvis so as to sit more comfortably and his movements became more focused, more frantic. Brienne closed her eyes; her slit convulsed as she heard his hitched breathing and the wet noises of his penis in his hand. When he gasped she opened her eyes just in time to relish his orgasmic face, his wet lips, the thick white semen spurting out wildly, overflowing his hands.

A perfect image of abandonment.

And that’s when she had the strongest orgasm she had in ages. With one hand in her trousers and the other holding onto the bars she got overwhelmed by a surge of pleasure, moaning helplessly as if it was her first time. She rested her forehead on her grasping hand as she removed the other from between her legs and took several deep breaths before she could lift her head and face him.

He was still panting, a big mess of sweat and sperm, his hand on his manhood. She could tell he was trying to come to terms with what they had just done alone in those cells. What _she_ had done to him.

He slowly lifted his sticky hand, blinked, and broke into laughter. “I pity the guard who will try to grab me by the hands now. You know, maybe I should cover myself with it, keep those fuckers away.”

His cheerfulness was contagious. Brienne giggled like a little girl and buried her face in her hands; she couldn’t believe they could still laugh. When she was finally able to catch her breath she rested her hands on her knees and looked at the redheaded wild man in tattered lord’s clothing in the cell opposite hers, the polished savage who had just sent her to the Seven Heavens.

She smiled. She was happy.

“Get dressed,” he urged her lovingly. “Don’t push your luck, no matter how much I prefer to see you walk around naked than dressed in that black steel cage of yours.”

“Deep blue cobalt.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not black, it’s deep blue cobalt.”

“Is that right…” he nodded with fake admiration.

She complied swiftly putting on her gambeson, lacing the cords and tidying up her hair as if she was getting ready for an inspection.

“Now we must form a plan for tomorrow,” she said as if nothing had happened between them, as if the burning and satisfaction between her legs wasn’t still lingering.

Tormund raised an eyebrow.

“You are sated and refreshed now, aren’t you?” she insisted. “Now that we got past this I think we can concentrate on our survival, and rescue the lords I serve in the process.”

She was grinning now, ear to ear. Tormund couldn’t believe what she had just told him.

“Is that… is that why… Oh for the love of the _gods_ , woman!”

He shook his head and let it hang. She was _such_ a piece of work, and she’d never let him forget that, not as long as she lived. He sighed.

“You’re wicked. The first time you finished me was to help me perform my conjugal duties, or so you said. Now I guess this was a mere distraction to make me relax and focus on our escape. I wonder if you’ll ever finish me without having an ulterior motive, Brienne.”

She blinked with amusement and gave him an impish smile. “Get us out of here and you will find out.”


	15. Ghosts from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatred never dies.   
> But neither does love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: VIOLENCE, STRONG LANGUAGE.
> 
> Yet another BITCH-ASS chapter to write.... -__- Oh gods. I hope you enjoy.  
> And to compensate you for the long wait and the violence you'll have to endure, I promise the next chapter will have a TENT in it. It's a promise I made to Charlie back in chapter 11. Yes. A tent. Think about it. 
> 
> Thanks for waiting.

“Wake up, bitch.”

Brienne had barely opened her eyes when she felt a boot poking her ribs. She could have easily grabbed the man by the foot and thrown him to the ground; the only thing stopping her was the steely shine of Finbarre’s blade hanging inches from her nose. He wouldn’t kill her, no; he would maim her, probably attack the parts she wouldn’t need in battle – or in rape; teeth, nose, ears, fingers, a whole arm maybe if they made sure she didn’t bleed to death. Just enough to make her look pitiful and ridiculous.

She forced herself up.

“Walk,” she heard the man say, “They will soon be here.” She looked around; Tormund was already outside his cell, two men holding him by each arm, a knife pressed against the back of his neck.

“ _Who_ will be here?” she demanded.

“Don’t be curious,” the bald man spat. “You will soon find out.”

The guards pushed her and Tormund towards the staircase. When they finally reached the surface the sunlight hurt their eyes. Lord Glover was already there, waiting for them with Sansa on his side and two men guarding her.

“Where is Lord Royce, Aedan?” he asked the bald man.

“He’s with the boy, your lordship,” he croaked.

“What do you mean he’s with the boy?” Glover said impatiently.

“Pardon me, m’lord, he refused to leave his bedside during the night.”

Sansa’s pale lips trembled but she didn’t utter a word.

“He’d better join us soon,” Glover snarled. “Our guests could be here any minute now.”

Brienne sneaked a glance at Sansa who looked back at her; she had sickly black circles under her blue eyes.

“Open the gates!” someone barked from the other side of the Dreadfort’s walls. Two men rode into the yard, two northern lords. Their cloaks had furs and they had four silver chains drawn on their chestplates. Brienne couldn’t recognize the sigils but she could tell the men were related, they were both tall with strong jaws, pale cold eyes and long black hair. The older one took a look around before greeting Lord Glover, and then his tiny eyes settled on Tormund. He turned to the man on his side who seemed younger but had the same resentful look on his face.

“Look at that, Leecan,” he said with a jerk of his bearded chin. “That him, you think?

Leecan didn’t answer. He dismounted keeping his eyes fixed on the person his brother showed him.

“My lords,” Glover rushed to greet them. “I hope you had a safe journey. We need to finish this as soon as we can, before word gets out.”

“What, you plan on sending crows, Glover?” the bearded man quipped. “Or are you going to keep the women alive to spread the news?”

“No, Lord Ven. Lady Sansa will be sent to the Queen for killing king Joffrey, her beloved son. I don’t think she’ll have the chance to contact the King in the North ever again. As for Lady Brienne, that’s for you to decide what to do with her, my lords.”

“I’m sure their _cocks_ can decide what to do with her,” Ven chuckled as he nodded towards Finbarre, Aedan and the rest of Littlefinger’s men. Finbarre smirked.

“We’re not here for pleasantries, brother,” Leecan snapped and crossed the yard hastily towards the group of men standing next to Brienne and her captors.

“You’re right,” Ven agreed. “But first let’s thank Lord Glover before the festivities begin, after all he was the one to message us about this great find. Your letter was most unexpected and most elevating, dear Robett, and we thank you for letting us know of his whereabouts,” he bowed to Glover.

“We’re lucky this fool followed Lady Sansa’s party cutting himself off Jon Snow’s protective entourage. I don’t know what he was thinking but all the better for us, don’t you agree?”

 “Absolutely,” the bearded man nodded and walked to his brother who was already glaring at Lord Glover’s “find”. “So we meet at last,” Ven said resting his hands on his belt. “ _Tormund_. Is that right? The infamous Tormund Giantsbane.” He tilted his head back in fake admiration. “The bear fucker. The leader of the wildlings. Or should I call you Lord Karstark now?”

Tormund frowned. These men looked horribly familiar but he just couldn’t put names to faces. The squinty eyes, the square jaws, the narrow noses, the cold stare. He had never _seen_ those faces before, yet they seemed to know him. And he certainly knew them.

“It must feel good to be one of us now, eh?” Ven sniggered. “Look at your clothes, look at you.” He pulled at Tormund’s collar. “I imagine the lands you and your people will now feast upon like locusts, the warm walls to keep you safe from the coming winter, those same walls our ancestors built with their blood.” He placed his hand on Tormund’s shoulder squeezing hard and brought his face closer. “And of course little Alys’ sweet cunt,” he whispered dropping his head on the side. “The biggest prize of them all for serving the bastard so loyally. Was she sweet like butter when you split her pussy open? She must be real progress for you considering you only had bears to fuck beyond the Wall.” He hit Tormund’s shoulder mockingly. “Come on, what was she like? You can tell us.”

Tormund winced and gnashed his teeth. He tried to escape but Glover’s men were holding him by both arms.

 “I’m sure you wasted no time tasting that minge and it felt good, eh wildling? I’m sure you fucked her good before she could even get out of her wedding dress, fucked her till she bled. Poor girl.  Isn’t that how you goat fuckers do it, you steal and fuck little girls in the ass, don’t you? But her cunt is too good for the likes of you, you dog. I mean, can you believe it? The women, the lands, the castles, the riches, all yours for the taking. But you know, _Lord Karstark_ , we still own the north...”

Tormund froze; he had heard those words before. He had seen eyes like them before. He now recognized them despite the thick streams of blood that were running down his face choking him, blinding him, his own blood as well as that of the enemy. The enemy whose throat he had just ripped out with a wild triumphant howl.

Finally he knew who they were…

“You really thought we wouldn’t get to you in the end?” Leecan hissed pulling Tormund’s hair and making him grunt in pain, their eyes locked in a hateful stare. “You really thought that marriage of yours would protect you and we wouldn’t hunt you down after you slaughtered our _brother_?”

Brienne held her breath, her mouth hanging open.

It was them.

The remaining Umbers _._

_Seven help us._

She knew what Tormund had done to Smalljon Umber during the battle against the Boltons. _“_ _Always believe the stories about me, always,”_ he had told her the night before. Apparently those stories couldn’t be confined within the ranks of Jon Snow’s men. Bad news travelled fast, gruesome stories of hated blood thirsty enemies even faster.

“We knew you wildlings are animals who eat human flesh but you chose the wrong man to chew on, you smelly fucker,” Ven Umber spat. “You must be really proud of those strong teeth of yours, aren’t you?” he gloated pushing Tormund’s mouth open and shoving his thumb into his throat while he grabbed him by his messy ginger hair with the other hand to stop him from struggling. Tormund tried to bite down but Leecan swiftly pulled out his dagger and poked his throat, forcing him to stand still. “Your rich clothes won’t save you,” Ven continued. “That silver sun on your chest won’t save you. That jest of a marriage won’t save you. We’ll take our time pulling those wretched teeth one by one, the teeth that savaged our poor brother. And then we’ll ass-fuck you with them like you ass-fucked the Karstark girl. We’ll sit back to watch you shit blood and teeth, bastard.”

Once again at the mere mention of his wife Tormund struggled furiously, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Brienne, but Ven’s strong thumb in his throat kept holding him down and so did Leecan’s dagger. Glover’s men tightened their grip on Tormund’s arms not letting him move one inch against his enemies.

“But we’re at the Dreadfort, and no festivity is complete without some flaying,” Ven Umber kept taunting him and looked around. “It’s traditional and we northerners respect our customs, right, boys? Who knows, taking part in this age-old tradition of house Bolton might make a northerner out of you yet, Giantsbane! We all look the same under our skin after all.”

“Take my dagger, brother,” Leecan exhaled eagerly.

“I’m not so sure I want to start with the flaying, Lee,” Ven Umber said and took a step back pulling his thumb out of Tormund’s throat letting him breathe and cough at the same time. “I want him alive. Let him ponder a little longer on the thought of being flayed, I’d love to see the fear in his eyes. And who knows, by the time we get to use your dagger he might even beg us to kill him.”

Finbarre scoffed. “Have you ever done that, wildling? Have you ever begged?”

“No,” Tormund growled hoarsely, his glaring eyes dark and menacing like those of a caged wolf. “But _you_ will.”

Ven Umber guffawed and turned to Glover. “Did you hear that, Robett? The filthy animal hasn’t learned manners yet, and he wants to be a northern lord.”

“Gag him,” Glover said and threw a piece of dirty cloth for Umber to catch. “Maybe you should start by chopping off an arm, or a foot, immobilize him first. He’s dangerous.”

“I might just do that,” Ven said and began to draw his sword as his brother gagged Tormund with the cloth.

“No, use that one,” Glover said and held up a big sword with a lion on its pommel. “It belonged to her but I don’t think she will be needing it anymore,” he said looking at Brienne. “It’s only fitting.”

 _“Don’t you dare…”_ Brienne growled through gritted teeth.

“What was that?” Glover began but the fearful glimpse in her eyes made him stop in his tracks. He saw the worry and the desperation. He saw everything. The feelings she had be trying to hide all this time were now plain as day.

“Oh. _Ooooh,_ ” he smiled as the realization hit him. “I understand now. I understand why the wildling left his newlywed wife to follow them into the wilderness. He followed _her_.” He pointed at Brienne who was now covered in cold sweat. “Lord Umber, it seems we hit two birds with one stone here. Torture one and you’re torturing both. She doesn’t want us to use her precious sword on her precious wilding. Do you, Lady Brienne?”

“Glover, you traitorous sadistic bastard…” Brienne hissed as she tried to escape the men holding her.

“Stay put and you might spend a little more time with your loved one before Finbarre and the rest take care of you too.”

Finbarre jolted joyously at the mention of his name; this is what he’d been waiting for since he saw her the previous night lying face down on the floor of her cell helpless and unconscious, her long legs spread open, the lower part of her gambeson folded up on her back and revealing her delicious behind to him. Soon there would be nothing between him and her ass, and it was about time he and his companions got paid for all their efforts.

“Are you getting wet, bitch?” Finbarre jeered. “I’ll get you wet I promise. I sure am getting hard for you right now.” He grabbed his crotch and rubbed it up and down causing the rest of the men to burst in laughter.

That was the straw that broke the horse’s back. No gag could silence Tormund’s wrath now, no dagger in his throat could keep him down. With a fearful roar he pulled his arm trying to get rid of one of his captors but he only managed to drag the man in front of him. Ven Umber immediately punched Tormund in the stomach making him fall on his knees.

“Not so fast, lovebird.”

Tormund gasped desperately for air, blood dripping from his lips. Ven had hit him so hard that Tormund barely felt or heard the ripping of his clothes as Leecan tore the back of his tattered tunic with the dagger.

“Time to see if you’re just like us under that thick skin of yours, wildling,” Lord Glover said. “Time to see if… _Royce_. Finally you’re here. What’s wrong?”

The grizzly man had just appeared in the courtyard, pale as a ghost, lips trembling.

“You’re shaking, my lord, what’s happening?” Glover insisted.

“Dead…” Lord Royce whispered. “He’s… he’s dead…”

“Who is dead?”

“Lord Arryn... _Robin_ … Robin’s dead. My sweet sweet boy.”

Nobody spoke. Sansa was hardly breathing. The Umbers were too busy kicking Tormund and ripping the remains of his tunic. For a moment there the men’s grip on Brienne felt loose; it was now or never, she would escape them while they were distracted, but Sansa was far from her and standing too close to Glover. Brienne might not get a chance to grab a weapon before Glover used Oathkeeper to threaten Catelyn Stark’s daughter.

Tears were running down Yohn Royce’s cheeks.

“He was mine to protect after Lady Lysa died and I… I couldn’t save him.  I couldn’t save Lord Arryn. That arrow… it must have been poisoned. The Vale… the Vale is doomed.”

He was stuttering now, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Pull yourself together, man!” Glover urged him grabbing his shoulder and trying to steady him with one hand, the other still holding on to Oathkeeper. “Nothing’s lost. Lord Baelish will be the lord of the Eyrie now, calm down!”

“Lord Baelish…!” Royce lifted his head in a moment of clarity, tears still welling up in his eyes.

Robett Glover let go of Royce’s shoulder taking a step back. It was too late now, he had to speak. His eyes were cold as ice.

“You didn’t expect Lord Baelish to let the boy live, did you?” he said in a low dark voice. “He would never let a weakling stand in his way to become lord of the Vale.”

“You… knew?!... And you let it happen?”

Glover blinked.

“I didn’t let it happen. I _ordered_ it.”

Lord Royce was too dumbfounded to utter a single word. Sansa was shedding silent tears. Even the Umbers stopped beating Tormund and lifted him up grabbing him by both arms as they watched the exchange between the two lords. Tormund was coughing out blood, his brow split open, his face and naked torso badly bruised. He was too weak to resist them anymore.

Brienne felt her heart miss a beat.

She had failed the lady she had sworn to protect.

She had failed the man she loved.

“You… ordered it…!” Royce muttered.

“It had to be done. Ever since those wildling bastards invaded our lands nothing was the same. I'm glad we'll get rid of them at last and I can only thank Lord Baelish for that. It was his idea to capture Tormund after he sent Robin and Sansa to the Eyrie for their supposed marriage. Littlefinger would never give up the Eyrie to a retarded little boy.”

“That little boy was _my lord!_ He could have let him live!” Royce barked.

“No he couldn’t, you know it as well as I. That was the price we had to pay to get rid of the wildling leader, my lord. It was a fair trade. He didn’t tell you because he knew you would back down, but he told me. I instructed his men to use the poisoned arrow. It’s all for the best, now _calm down!”_

A dark crazy laughter filled the air, a chilling barking sound. Everyone turned to Tormund. His face was a bloody bruised mess but he could still laugh. The Umbers held him tight but they didn’t dare stop him. He was cackling uncontrollably and spitting blood at the same time.

“You fucking kneelers,” he roared trying not to choke on his own blood. “You fucking stupid kneelers. Finding new lords and kings to kneel to every single time. How does it feel now, Royce? How does it feel to bend the knee to Littlepecker of all people? He tricked you well, didn’t he?”

Royce stopped weeping. His eyes were fixed on Tormund.

“You’ll be fine serving that smirking little weasel now. You deserve each other, you know,” Tormund nodded. “Come to think of it, it could be an improvement from that dim-witted runt you had for a lord. I wonder if he would ever manage to wield a sword or hit a target with an arrow. I doubt it but I’m sure you’d urge him to try, if he ever let go of his feeding bottle that is. But I guess we’ll never know, will we? I’m sure he couldn’t even take a piss without you.”

Royce’s eyes widened as all rational thought left him.

“Songs will be written about you, old man, wait and see,” Tormund giggled. “ _The Wet Nurse and the Halfwit._ I’m sure you’d even breastfeed him if you could, that does sound like something you-“

Not a second passed and Oathkeeper was no longer in Glover’s hand. It was in Royce’s furious grip as he pushed back Glover stealing the sword from him, marching frantically towards Tormund. Brienne yanked at her captors instinctively, tightening her right fist but grabbing nothing but air, as if trying to control Oathkeeper from a distance. What was this madman thinking? Was this his ultimate attempt at a petty triumph over his tormentors, his final insult? What a fool, what a _STUPID_ fool!

“You shut your mouth, you filthy-“ Royce hissed.

“Or what?” Tormund mocked him with a mad desperate grin on his face. “Will you help me piss as well, Royce? Will you hold my pecker for me? You’ll need both hands, old man, it’s quite heavy…”

With a horrible cry Royce lifted Oathkeeper over Tormund’s head but Tormund was quicker; and stronger. At the very last minute he pulled his left arm in front of him with a beastly growl dragging Leecan between him and Royce’s sword, shielding himself against the aged knight’s rage. Oathkeeper landed on Leecan’s neck half-beheading him, blood squirting everywhere. As soon as his left arm was released Tormund turned the other way and clobbered Ven Umber’s face until it was a mass of blood and broken bones. Before Royce could pull Oathkeeper out of Leecan’s neck Tormund grabbed Ven’s sword and chopped off Royce’s hand. Oathkeeper fell on the ground with a clang. The aged lord was screaming.

Tormund’s distraction was enough; for a split second Brienne felt her captors’ grip loosen up. Now was the time. She head-butted one of them and pushed the other to the ground, kicking him until he was unconscious. She then took his sword and pierced his chest through and through before finishing off the other man as well.

As soon as they saw what was happening, Finbarre, Aedan and the others grabbed their swords and circled the pair. Brienne was quick enough to grab Sansa, drag her away from Glover and place her behind her. She had her back turned on Tormund and couldn’t see his watchful eyes, his tense muscles or his head crouching like a predator, and as the adrenaline set her pulse racing with deafening violence she could hardly hear his quick breathing.  But for the first time in her life she had the weirdest feeling: she felt as if she was in two places at once. Their hearts beat as one, their breathing was synchronized. And even with her back turned on him it was like she was looking in a mirror.

That moment they were one. And they had only one thing in their minds: escape.

Tormund didn’t wait for Littlefinger’s men, he attacked first. They thought they had him at a disadvantage but the beating he took from the Umber brothers did nothing to soothe his rage. In a matter of minutes he eliminated all his opponents. Except one.

Finbarre was crawling on the ground trying to escape Tormund but his leg was broken. He was sniveling like a baby as he turned on his back, raising his hands in a hopeless attempt to protect himself from the wild monster with the flaming hair.

“Don’t… Don’t kill me!” he begged. “Please…”

“What did you say to my woman?” Tormund growled.

“Please! Oh please don’t..!”

“What. Did you say. To my woman.”

Tormund grabbed him by the hair and Finbarre cried in pain. “Are you wet enough for me, blondie?” he whispered. “Are you? Oh I forgot, you don’t have a pussy. Well, let me carve one for you.”

He raised Oathkeeper and shoved it into Finbarre’s groin. The young man squealed like a pig. Tormund stabbed him again and again until his crotch was covered by a glistening pool of blood.

The half-naked madman smiled coldly as drops of Finbarre’s blood were running down his forehead. “Seems wet enough to me now,” he chuckled.

He turned to Brienne and Sansa. The last man standing was Glover. He was in a bad state and weaponless with Brienne’s sword pointing at his neck but he was still looking her in the eye. Yohn Royce was sitting on the ground next to him. He was dying, the loss of his hand had drained him.  Tormund almost pitied the old man.

“Go on,” Glover muttered. “You might as well kill me.”

“I might,” Brienne quipped with a steely voice.

Glover didn’t expect that answer. For a moment there he thought of surrendering but he knew it was too late to beg. “You can tell the King in the North,” he said decisively “What I did, I did it for my people. I did it for my Erena.”

“It is quite unfortunate then that you won’t be there to tell her,” Sansa murmured calmly and her eyes were darker than the rain clouds that were gathering in the sky. She slowly turned to Brienne and nodded. Brienne nodded back. Without hesitation the warrior woman swang her sword and beheaded Robett Glover, the lord of Deepwood Motte. His lifeless body collapsed on the ground in front of Yohn Royce who was now too weak to even sit up.

The Knight of the Vale tried to lift his head and face the people he had persecuted. He struggled to lean on his elbow but he had lost too much blood. He lied back down.

“Lady Stark, I’m so sorry,” he wheezed. “So very sorry. I don’t deserve to live as I don’t deserve to find peace in death either.”

Sansa kneeled beside him and brushed his hair back wiping away the sweat from his feverish forehead. He was pale as death but his grey eyes were full of regret and sorrow.

“You brought the Knights of the Vale to the north, Lord Royce,” Sansa said as she tried to smile. “You helped my brother. You deserve Mother’s mercy.”

 “I betrayed you...” Royce whimpered. He had lost too much blood now, and there were no tears left in his eyes. Only pain.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Stark, I’m so…”

Sansa knew he was a traitor but couldn’t hold back her tears. “Give my greetings to Sweetrobin when you see him. I know you will.”

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I’m… _So_ ….” He stopped struggling. He was finally at peace.

He wasn’t a lord, or a knight, or a traitor anymore.

He was nothing.

Sansa wiped her tears as the first raindrops started falling.

“Time to go,” Tormund said dryly and he turned his back on the bodies of the northern lords and Littlefinger’s men. “I’ll get the horses.”

“Lady Sans-“ Brienne said.

“I’m alright,” Sansa interrupted her. “Let’s go.”

Brienne took a deep breath – she knew Sansa was suffering even if she was too proud to show it. The last few days had been horrifying to her.

“I promise you as soon as we’re able to send a raven I’ll ask for men to come here and burry the bodies of Lord Arryn and Lord Royce.”

“I wish their bodies could be taken back to the Vale,” Sansa replied. “Sweetrobin would like to be with his mother.”

“I know,” Brienne said taking a small bow.

“The horses are ready, come on,” Tormund barked.

Brienne gave him a scornful look. “Can you wait? Lady Sansa needs a bit of a rest. Just a little longer.”

“She can rest,” Tormund answered. “On her horse. Soon it will be pouring down and we do not want to stay anywhere near the Dreadfort. We don’t know if Lord Littlepecker has sent any more men.”

“Lady Sansa is _mourning._ She just lost her cousin. That ‘dim-witted runt’. I think Lord Arryn deserves your respect – and your patience.”

Tormund pulled the straps of his saddle and looked at her. _Headstrong to the end._

He shrugged tilting his head.

“So be it. The rain can wait for us I guess. Although you shouldn’t take my words about the boy so seriously.”

“Perhaps I should,” Brienne snapped. “Was that the great plan you came up with yesterday after I… after we… _talked?_

Tormund let out a snicker but Brienne ignored him.

“Did you have to offend Lord Arryn’s memory so much in front of Lady Sansa?”

Tormund gave her a look of disbelief. “He’s dead. We’re alive,” he said and without warning he threw Oathkeeper for Brienne to catch. It would have hit her in the face if not for her impeccable reflexes. It almost did. “I hope you’re happy we are,” he continued icily as he turned his back on her.

“I _am_ happy.”

“You don’t look happy to me, _Lady_ _Brienne_.”

“I am happy… you are… _not dead_.”

The change in her tone made him turn. She was looking down embarrassed, her cheeks, spilled with blood just like his, blushing like a little girl’s. Tormund smiled.

“Is this the closest to a love confession I’ll ever get from you?” he sighed. His heart was already racing but if she kept being stubborn as a mule he wouldn’t take a single step towards her. He only wished they were alone.

“No. But this _is_.”

Without letting go of Oathkeeper, Brienne walked towards him, put her hand on his cheek and placed a light kiss on his lips. She sure knew how to surprise him. His lips parted as he closed his eyes and tasted the sweat and the blood and the sweetness of her mouth. Gods, this was heavenly. Her tongue dominated his and then it dawned on him: they had never kissed before. They had done lots of things to each other but this was their first kiss. And he wasn’t dreaming, it was real.

He let his hand slide around her waist and he gently pressed her against his naked torso. He heard her moan. Just a tiny moan, meant only for him to hear. And there was nothing he could do about his erection now. He wondered if she was as excited as he was, if there was another way to tell. He was dying to feel her ass, make her feel his hard-on but he didn’t want to offend Sansa, or Brienne would take his head. But she was still holding back, still hugging him with only one hand. The other was holding Oathkeeper, never letting it go.

Tormund pulled back and smiled as their lips glistened with saliva and drops of rain. Their hair was getting more and more wet but none of them seemed too eager to leave now.

“Is this another distraction to make us stay longer under the pouring rain?” he joked. “Do you have an ulterior motive again?”

“No,” Brienne smiled back beaming with joy. She was the most charming creature in the world.

“In that case…” Tormund took her hand gently by the wrist, held Oathkeeper by the hilt and made her loosen her grip. He put down the blade slowly, carefully, without ever letting her go of his sight, smiling as he rose again to hold her with both hands. He couldn’t help noticing her biting her lip ever so slightly, lustfully, as her gaze travelled down his round belly and even lower than that. She wanted to _see_ him. With a deep sigh he pressed her against him and was happy to feel both her hands caressing his back, his ribs, his waist, her fingers sneakily reaching into the back of his trousers as she lost herself in his mouth, and tried to steady herself while he gave in to his uncontrollable desire for her. And since he couldn’t feel her generous curves or dive into her pants just yet he simply stood there, waiting for the hot wave of desire to retreat and his heart to calm down.

Finally they pulled away from each other.

“Let’s go,” Brienne whispered in his ear.

“Yes, it’s time,” Tormund agreed and smiled back. “Or you’ll finish me in front of Sansa, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.”


	16. In the tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Not so) alone at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tent scene that was promised to Charlie back in chapter 11.  
> Big thanks to Teamtormund, Jemsters and Lycanthropemaul for their help.  
> Hope you enjoy. ^^

The rain had been reduced to a light drizzle by the time the three travelers left the Dreadfort on the horses they found in the stables, leaving too many corpses behind. They rode in a slow calm pace, hardly ever speaking to each other. First they went to the river bank where Brienne had hidden her armour; it was still there, their horse too. She had retrieved her precious steel as well and all was good. Everything was finally in place: the armour shielding her body, Oathkeeper in its sheath, the fierce wildling leader by her side. Where he should be. Where he should have been all this time, without a moment’s delay ever since she met him.

As they continued their journey on horseback Tormund took her hand in his from time to time without looking at her. His mind was absent, still trying to process the horrors and the torture they had been through, but his body was ever present and alert, making sure he kept a firm grip on the here and now, reassuring him that his woman made it out alive, that _he_ made it out alive and he was now holding her hand. Her hand, her precious limb, soft and warm with excessively long fingers that could caress a man to madness as well as kill him without remorse.

_Real. It’s all real. And it’s over. She’s real and her hand is in my hand and she’s mine. Fucking mine._

As the sunlight grew dim they set up camp on a small secluded clearing in the forest. Brienne wanted to sleep on the ground outside Sansa’s tent but the Stark girl said she had no use for a guard who would eventually freeze to death. Tormund helped her set up three small tents with blankets they had taken from the Dreadfort. They wanted to have Sansa sleep in the middle but she insisted on taking the tent that was separate from the others, surrounded by trees and hidden by bushes. Sansa felt safer there. Or perhaps she wanted to weep for Sweetrobin, the little boy whose body they were forced to leave behind. She wanted to be alone

An hour passed after the three of them settled in their tents. Brienne could still feel the comforting warmth of Tormund’s hand around hers and she kept clasping and unclasping her fingers just to be reminded of how it felt, missing him already. She was fingering idly her palm when she heard a voice from the tent next to hers.

“Brienne?” Tormund whispered.

“Yes?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Obviously not…” she murmured. “What is it?”

“I cannot sleep,” he sighed.

She didn’t say anything, she just kept tracing her palm.

“Can _you_ sleep?” Tormund insisted.

“I will. If you let me.”

She heard him trying to find a comfortable position tossing and turning until he finally stopped. Another ten minutes passed. No sounds came from his tent, he had fallen asleep.

“Brienne?”

_“YES.”_

“Are you asleep now?”

“No. No I’m not asleep.”

“Can I join you?”

“NO?!” she snapped trying to keep her voice down so as not to wake up Sansa. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Lady Sansa is sleeping right next to me.”

“She’s not, she’s in the shrubbery, the noises get muffled.”

“So?! She could still hear… _us._ ”

“That’s quite unfortunate, isn’t it?”

Tormund took a deep sigh and put his hands under his head. Brienne laid still looking up, struggling to stay focused. It was pointless. Her eyes slid sideways towards Tormund’s tent but she didn’t move a muscle, fingers tangled on her chest, trying to catch any sound coming from him, any change in the rhythm of his breathing. All he had to do was ask her once more. _Once more,_ that’s it. She would never tell him of course but that was all it would take: a little bit of patience. A little bit of persistence. She was too stubborn to give in just like that. And she wasn’t sure he wanted her, he did get agitated at the mention of his wife after all when the Umbers were taunting him.

_Tormund, I’ll be damned if I ever know what’s on your mind._

Finally he spoke.

“So I can’t join you? Are you sure?” he said in the mellowest voice imaginable.

“No you can’t,” she said firmly, almost regretting her harsh tone. But she couldn’t help it, Alys’ memory was lingering on. That stupid _stupid_ marriage!

She took a deep breath.

 “But I can join _you_.”

And she got up, stalling a little bit just to hear his breath hitch in lusty surprise.

That was all the confirmation she needed. A triumphant smile spread across her face. She closed her eyes, took one more breath and got out.

As she stood outside Tormund’s tent she took her time relishing the anticipation, thinking about the wonders she’d find feeling his spread thighs in the darkness, blindly tracing her way to his manhood. He wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t making a sound. He was waiting for her with bated breath. In _there_. That red-headed beast of a man. Hard and ready and hers for the taking. Oh she would ruin him.

The mere thought of him waiting in the dark with his breeches about to burst made her warm and wet. She wanted him, _all_ of him, inside her.

She lowered her head and entered the tent. She could see his figure in the dark. He was sitting up leaning on his hands behind his back, his hair all messed up, his knees apart, his chest heaving slowly in anticipation. She could see his eyes, bewildered, wide open, eating her up. She could see the bulge in his pants.

“Brienne, what are you-”

He exhaled sharply as she landed on his lap spreading her legs around him, attacking his lips, his tongue, brushing her hands through his wild red mane, claiming him, eating him alive. The more she squeezed the more he moaned. She took his hands and pressed them against her hips, showing him how to please her, almost forcing him to molest her. He was more than willing to comply as he buried his nails in her flesh and pulled her butt cheeks apart. He twirled his tongue, teasing and taunting, grazing her bottom lip with a nip of teeth. She sighed and rocked her hips back and forth brushing, pressing, teasing his erection, making herself more and more wet. She would go down on him if he let her; she would wrap her lips around his cock that very instant, she would make him come in her mouth and swallow every drop of him. She would suck the life out of this wild man. She would suck him dry.

And just as she slipped her hand between their bodies reaching for the laces of his breeches he pulled away from their kiss.

Had she done something wrong?

“I… can’t. I can’t do this…” he shook his head and looked away. “Not yet. Not like that.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t do this… to her… I can’t do this to Alys.”

Brienne blinked. She was right after all to doubt his feelings for her, her instinct wasn’t wrong. He _did_ love his wife, that’s why he had such a violent outburst when the Umbers offended Lady Karstark.

She should have known. What an idiot she was.

Tormund looked down avoiding her puzzled gaze. “She’s a sweet child, and she doesn’t deserve to be humiliated, even if she doesn’t know. I couldn’t care less if she went with other men but she’s not like me, she’s not a free folk.”

Brienne sat down next to him trying hard not to scream. They had been through heaven and hell together and all he could think about was his child wife.

“She’s a kneeler,” Tormund said.  “As weird as your concept of marriage is to me I need to respect her traditions.” He noticed Brienne’s unmistakable frown. “I can’t do this anymore. Live this lie. I’ll have to tell her first. Then I’ll have my way with you,” he reassured her and gave her a sneaky smile. He reached to touch her cheek but she pulled away. He didn’t expect that kind of reaction from her.

“Her heart will be broken when you ask for the marriage to be annulled whether you cheat on her or not…” she muttered. “Because this is the only way to do it, ask Jon Snow to call it off. She loves you, she respects you. She wanted to know about your customs and traditions, she asked me about your name day. When you leave her she’s going to be hurt either way.”

Tormund rested his weary head on his palm. “I know, I _know_. And it’s killing me. But... if I do this right it’s going to hurt less.”

“It’s going to hurt _you_ less,” she frowned. “This is not about her.” He didn’t seem willing to contradict her and that drove her even more frustrated. “I… I shouldn’t be here.” All of a sudden she felt cold and ashamed. Ashamed of loving him, of wanting him. “I’ll return to my tent and we will go our separate ways once we arrive in Karhold. It’s the right thing to do. Lady Sansa will have to return to Winterfell anyway, and I’m going with her.” She had the same steely voice again, the cold distant tone she had when she left him panting, silently begging for more, in the Karhold yard that midnight. “You’re Lady Karstark’s husband and I’m Lady Sansa’s _sworn sword._ I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here…”

She moved to get up, completely determined to put an end to this horrible night, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t go,” he begged her. For the first time in his life he was begging. “Please.”

The broken tone of his voice made her stand still. She couldn’t bear seeing him so heartbroken, so torn, so indecisive. That wasn’t the Tormund she knew. He didn’t deserve to be reduced to a god-fearing doubtful kneeler because of their stupid laws and traditions.

 “I meant it you know,” he said. “What I told you when we were breaking into the Dreadfort. I’d rather die tomorrow in your arms than spend the rest of my days knowing I have lost you forever. Just… don’t go.”

He was still holding on to her hand. She let it loose, crawled back to him and caressed his hair with her other hand. There was adoration in his big green eyes, adoration and pleading.

There was lust in hers. And love. If he couldn’t see that he was a fool. Why did she have to spell it out for him?

No matter. She’d _make_ him see it.

She cleared her throat trying not to blush. “You know… It’s not considered infidelity if there is no consummation. And consummation is only achieved through penetration.”

Tormund stared at her, and nodded. Then he shook his head baffled, his eyes open wide. “I… don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“There are… there are _ways_ we can… finish each other and we don’t have to… you don’t have to… _enter_ me,” she continued shyly. Two minutes before she would have ravaged him and now she was too embarrassed to even talk about lovemaking. Somehow doing things seemed easier to her than talking about them. “There are ways that are not considered infidelity. I mean I’ll… I’ll still be a virgin after we’re done.”

“What’s a virgin?” he asked. For all his lands and titles he still had a lot to learn.

Brienne gave her lips a nervous lick trying to come up with the right words.

“It’s… it’s when a woman is… when she hasn’t… When she still has her maidenhead.”

“You’re a _maid_ ,” Tormund said with awe in his tone. He looked at her in amazement.

“What…” Brienne tried to avoid his intense stare, it was making her extremely uncomfortable. “You thought…”

Tormund looked at her from head to toe. “You can’t be…”

“Well. I am.”

Oh he would totally regret it if he was teasing her.

“You’re telling me those southron twats, those small-peckered kneelers never tried to have you?”

“No. Well some of them _did_ … They tried to force themselves upon me more than once but only as a bet. Only to humiliate me. I didn’t let them.”

“Humiliate you. Why?”

“Well they didn’t try to have me because they _loved_ me. It’s a long story, you wouldn’t understand… It’s ugly.”

“Of course I wouldn’t understand,” he said irritated. “How could I ever understand men who marry little girls to have their lands, men who would rather humiliate a woman like you instead of giving her babies? And you’re still a maid…”

“I am.” Brienne could see Tormund’s eyes glistening in the dark. She didn’t know if he was just surprised that a “beauty” like her was still a virgin, or if he was turned on by the fact that no one had her before him. She had to make her move now. “I mean… you won’t be breaking any vows with me if we… if we just use those other ways of lovemaking. And trust me, I know a lot about vows.”

She hadn’t practiced any of those “ways” before but her long walks accompanying Lady Sansa and Lady Alys had taught her a thing or two about what men liked; she remembered the sex talks, the ones that made her want to disappear from the face of the earth. Every single word. She hated those talks but she never thought they’d be of use to her some day. And lo and be hold, that day was here.

Brienne smiled with confidence.

She sat closer to him. She traced his bearded cheek with her greedy lips breathing in his earthy scent and she let him bury his face into the folds of her neck. He didn’t object when she sank her fingers into his fiery hair, and he certainly didn’t seem to want to pull away. That was a good sign. She sneaked her hand down his plump stomach enjoying the feel of his baby fat between her fingers, massaging his belly. There was nothing in this world like the sound of his heavy breathing. He didn’t even bother to resist when she reached his crotch.

Hard and ready, just like she thought he would be.

She moved her hand up and down trying to spot his sensitive tip, finding it, tickling it, pulling down the foreskin over his breeches.

Tormund moaned in one final attempt to deny her tantalizing touch. “Brienne… No…”

But his no sounded more like a yes.

With her other hand she grabbed his balls and gave them a gentle massage. “No? No what? Tell me,” she purred as she kept fondling him, seducing him.

Tormund heaved a deep sigh and gave her a scornful look for tormenting him like that.

“I can’t hear you,” Brienne cooed.

He kept breathing heavily imploring her with his half-closed eyes. With her tongue she forced open his lips ravishing his mouth like a hungry animal. There was no shame left in her. She unlaced his breeches shoving her hand in, and as she pulled out his cock her face lit up with a smile of satisfaction.

No bars between them this time, and nowhere to go.

She looked Tormund in the eyes. Her lustful determined look turned him on more than her hand squeezing his eager hard-on. He closed his eyes in defeat knowing he couldn’t resist her anymore.

She helped him get rid of his furs and his tunic and in turn she unlaced her breeches without removing them completely, letting them bundle up around her knees. It was still cold in the tent and she didn’t want to freeze to death before he could warm her up with his tongue and fingers. Besides she knew he would enjoy the view of her half nudity, it would only make him want to rip her clothes. She lowered her head standing on all fours. She arched her back pushing up her hips for him to enjoy the sight of her spread asscheeks and took his throbbing manhood in her hand. His breath hitched when she bent over him sticking out her tongue to feel him, moving her lips up and down his shaft making it wet. Her tongue made naughty circles around his tip causing him to cry out in ecstasy. He grabbed her by the head. She kept sucking him with relentless determination as he lifted up his torso just enough to reach out and play with her soaking slit. He pushed his fingers inside her enjoying her whimpers of surprise and pleasure, imagining he was fucking her mouth and her cunt at the same time, wishing he had more cocks to fuck her with.

She pulled his member out applying gradually more pressure as she reached the tip, squeezing hard with her lips, and she sat on her knees. She wiped her mouth.

“No, don’t stop…” Tormund pleaded wrapping his fingers around his hard-on. “Come here…”

“I want to see you again,” she said with bated breath removing her gambeson, and she started fondling her breasts. “Like I saw you in that cell. I want you to cup your balls, caress them gently. That’s right, I knew you would remember, that’s… oh… Yes, keep doing that. Now brush them with the tips of your fingers. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Tormund exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. She knew exactly what he enjoyed the most, and her giving him orders to please himself was driving him insane.

“Look at me,” she commanded.

When Tormund opened his eyes he saw her touching her nipples with her wet fingers, pinching them with quick movements, using her middle fingers to twist them slowly as she gave out tiny sighs of pleasure. She looked so vulnerable, so desirable in her ecstasy as she closed her eyes and slid the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. He would ride her on the spot if it wasn’t for that damnable marriage.

_Damn those fucking kneelers, damn the alliance, damn you Jon Snow._

And then she did the unthinkable: she turned and stood on all fours presenting her ass to him. She placed her hand between her wet folds and started rubbing herself salaciously rocking her hips back and forth as if inviting him to straddle her, possess her, tame her. Her movements got quicker, her moans louder and faster until he was too overwhelmed to hold back.

He sprang to his knees, grabbed her ass and rubbed his cock in her crack trying to get a taste of that tight delicious hole of hers. And then he did something that made Brienne quiver with anticipation: his expert tongue moistened her thighs making circles as he licked his way to her pussy, invading her sweet lips, making her gasp with longing. She bucked her eager hips offering her slit to be eaten up by that insatiable mouth until she could melt in it, and she let her head drop down on the ground between her forearms, relishing every lick, every push of his tongue, every naughty little circle around her clit.

She could feel the sensual tickle of his bushy beard between her thighs and his hot sweaty hand on her ass when she heard his hoarse voice.

“Close your legs. I want you to hold me between them.”

Brienne wondered if this new game could be compared with actual penetration, doubting whether it would offer them any satisfaction at all. All she ever knew was that men loved fucking women’s pussies and mouths, and that was it.

She would be surprised.

He shoved his cock between her thighs with slow thrusts at first. She could tell he liked it, she could hear it. Encouraged by his ecstatic moans she started rocking herself back and forth, riding him with her tense muscular thighs while he pressed himself forward again and again until he was buried deep enough that he could feel how wet and hot she was. Brienne sighed as he stimulated her clit; she wanted to grab his member, hold it right there until she came. She was desperate to have an orgasm and she would do anything to achieve it.

He couldn’t delay his overwhelming pleasure anymore. With one hand he squeezed her ass hard and he started masturbating frantically. As he was about to reach climax he pushed his throbbing tip between her womanly folds, just enough to feel her wetness, her heavenly warmth, rubbing her lips until he found her clit once more. He would give the world to enter her right now, bury himself inside her, fill her up. 

“You’ll be the death of me, woman… You’ll- _ugh!”_

He never got to finish his sentence. Brienne’s hand reached for his balls from between her legs squeezing them, pulling them against her ass. This was too much: she was trying to put his balls _inside her_ , rubbing her cheeks against him, wanting him, welcoming him, demanding to be ravished by him.

_Fuck patience._

He jerked himself fast burying his nails in her ass, pounding her cheeks with his cock until he came with a loud cry ejaculating his hot load on her virgin crack and lips. With a trembling gasp he leaned on her buttock sweating and panting. He was all over her.

But even in his blissful dizziness he didn’t leave his woman unsatisfied. He took his sperm and smeared it all over her vagina. Tormund stroking her clit with his hot seed sent shivers down her spine until she was feeling nothing but his quick agile fingers and his semen making her all slick. She could feel it coming. She gasped and closed her eyes. And as she was reaching the highest peak of her orgasm Tormund kept rubbing his cock between her folds not wanting to let her go just yet, teasing the base of her clit, still pleasuring her as her muscles convulsed.

She let her head drop, and she came hard. And it was all his doing.

She tried to muffle her scream of pleasure by biting down on her fist but her orgasm was just too strong and her clenched fingers weren’t enough to silence it. He kept pushing and pushing until the pace of her breathing slowed down. He closed his eyes resting his hands on her hips, trying to catch his breath, and as he fondled her he bit down her check enjoying the feel of her soft flesh between his teeth.

 “I want to hear you scream, girl, I want it so bad…” he smiled as his heartbeat went back to its normal rhythm.  He was still on his knees enjoying the view of his seed glistening on her naked ass. “Next time if you try to put your fist in that pretty talented mouth of yours I will tie your hands behind your back I swear.”

Brienne was too drunk on her own pleasure, the waves of her climax sweeping over her body, to get up. Her face lay on the ground with eyes closed, her fingers digging into the dirt, but there was still some Brienne left in her. “You could…” she breathed. “You could try…”

Tormund laughed. “I _expect_ you to put up a fight,” he said helping her to sit up. “You’d make a great spearwife.”

“Spearwife?” she asked as she reached for her clothes.

“The warrior women of the free folk. They’re fearsome. Just like you.” His eyes were filled with pride. Pride for his woman. “Every spearwife is as good as any man when it comes to hunting and fighting. They make the best warriors. And the best mothers.”

Brienne put on her tunic and gambeson and pulled up her breeches. “What makes you think I want to be your wife?” she said trying to shake a strand of hair away from her eyes. “I’ll never be anybody’s wife. That’s not who I am.” She lowered her head trying to lace her trousers.

Tormund lifted her chin to make her look at him and pushed her hair behind her ear, smiling.

“But you won’t be my wife. You will be my _woman_.”


End file.
